


How to Have a Conversation With Yourself

by GrapieBee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Errbody got baggage that needs unpacked, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, In which Lance has many emotions and is eventually forced to deal with them, Langst, Minor Original Character(s), On Hiatus, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Tags May Change, Takes place in season 2ish?, Team as Family, empathic abilities, parents are human and it can suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapieBee/pseuds/GrapieBee
Summary: The mission was suppose to be simple, truly it was.Research a rumor that a hollowed out planet was being used as some sort of secret travel route for the Galra, gather some intel, head back to the ship. Bing bang, one, two, three, easy peasy.But, if being in space had taught Lance anything, it was that nothing was ever that simple.





	1. How to Have a Nature Walk

**Author's Note:**

> In which Lance and Hunk learn how to have a nature walk.

The mission was suppose to be simple, truly it was.

Research a rumor that a hollowed out planet was being used as some sort of secret travel route for the Galra, gather some intel, head back to the ship. Bing bang, one, two, three, easy peasy.

But, if being in space had taught Lance anything, it was that nothing was ever _that_ simple.

Well, truth be told, it actually had started off easy enough.

He and Hunk had gone together in Blue, more voluntold than having the chance to volunteer, but hey, these sorts of things seemed to come with paladin territory.

As with most of the rumors they followed, this one already seemed to be leading to a dead end the moment they touched down.

The planet, or what was left of it all, had the same unnatural stillness that so many of the other decimated celestial bodies they had the displeasure of visiting seemed to possess. The air, though breathable for once, was stagnant. The ground, though still firm under their weight, was covered in dust that plumed around their feet with each step. Everything was deadly silent, save for their soft footsteps and breathing. He did his best to keep his eyes straight and his thoughts empty.

Their briefing had been, ironically, brief. The planet itself, formerly known as Melemant, predated most of Altean technology. By the time Allura’s great-great-great-great-great-however many great ancestors had taken to the skies for the first time, the planet had already been desolate. Not dead just...empty.

The destruction that they saw now had been done personally by the Galra, for reasons unknown.

It was the mystery that surrounded this place, the questions of “Why would the Galra claim an already empty planet?” that had probably been the very thing to create the rumor they were chasing in the first place.

As they walked, their maps of the area basic and painfully old, Lance made a point at looking to his team member. Though he knew Hunk was trying to hide it, the slight shiver of the larger boy’s shoulders did not go unnoticed.

His heart clenched slightly and he knew he could contemplate the fact that they were basically visiting an ancient mass grave of some sort once they were back at the castle.

“Let’s make this quick, buddy. Coran said we really only needed to check a few of the cave systems, we’ll be out of here before you know it.” Lance kept his tone light, conversational, and pointedly flashed his award winning smile at Hunk as he finished, being rewarded with Hank’s own strained grin in return.

If he had been allowed to come alone, like he’d asked to do and got promptly shut down, he would have spared his friend the discomfort that a mission like this inherently brought. Hunk wasn’t suited to be around death, not like this, not ever _really_. He’d much rather see his friend in his element in a thriving alien culture, laughing and cooking and trying his best to figure out if the planet they were on had the equivalent of a burrito.

Hunk didn’t belong on a graveyard the size of a planet.

His stilled his thoughts as they reached the cave entrance, frowning as the maw immediately split off into two seperate paths. He tapped his foot, ignoring each little puff of dust that formed as he did so, worrying his bottom lip as he thought.

“Ok, look, I know that look and I get the feeling I know what’s going on in that head of yours right now Lance and I gotta tell you, splitting up-”

“Is gonna get us off this planet sooner rather than later? I know, it’s a great idea, _right_?” Lance finished, smiling as he wiggled his eyebrows at his best friend.

Lance watched as Hunk worked through his proposition, his jaw clenched and his eyes scanning the area around them, his face paling ever so slightly as he did so.

“Yeah, sure, you know what, let’s go with your plan Lance, sounds like a winner.”

Lace smiled again, bumping his fist against his friend’s shoulder as he did so.

“Awesome, so, Allura said if there’s gonna be anything here it should be about three miles into the caves. Just think of it like a nature walk but, you know, in space.”

“Yippee.” Hunk said, with such apathy Lance found himself with a legit snort of laughter scrunching up his face.

“Hey man, this beats waiting around the castle!” Lance said, jogging into the entrance on the right hand side, immediately willing his bayard to form a light source as he moved into the cave.

Over the comlink, he heard Hunk sigh.

“Look, you weren’t the one in the middle of a bit of research when we got assigned to do this.”

“Yeah yeah, and I’ll be there when you get the Nobel Prize for your invention of the space poptart.”

“Hey, I never said it was _important_ research!” Hunk answered, a chuckle woven in his words.

Lance laughed in response, genuinely happy for the first time all day.

Unfortunately, Lance’s good mood wilted pretty quickly as he walked.

True, it was nice to be out and about on his own, to be away from the castle and the training schedule and the monotony of waking up, training, going over recent Galra moves and that sort of junk. But, damn, as much as he liked spicing his schedule up some, he’d be wrong in saying he had woken up on the right side of the bed.

_What if Hunk gets hurt. -He’s one smart dude, he’ll be fine.-_

_What if something happens outside to Blue? -She’s an independent space cat, she can handle sitting on a dead planet.-_

_You took so, so long to get up this morning. You could have spent that time training or something useful. -Yep, definitely could have.-_

_If you don’t keep up, they’re gonna kick you off the team. If you’re not useful, they won’t need you. -Yep, not wrong about that.-_

The self talk was normal, when he was alone.

When he was twelve and dealt with his first bout of The Blues, as he called them, the self talk had been much, much worse.

So bad that, at some point, he’d gone to school with several burns on his hand that had made his teacher concerned. His parents had been called in, the school counselor reminding him it was just because they were so worried about him that they did so, even when he asked them, begged them, to just leave it be.

His parents loved him, he knew that, but they wouldn't be able to understand. And he had been right.

The ride home had been so tense, you could have cut through it with a knife. It had been his mom to speak first, to turn back to him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she spoke.

“Is it something we did? Just tell me if it was, please Lance.”

He couldn't explain it, didn’t know how to put into words waking up some mornings and being so excited to see what the day brought; and the next morning feeling like getting out of bed might be the hardest thing he’d ever done and than waking up every morning after for months on end with that same heavy feeling. He couldn’t explain why it was that pain was at least _something_ , was different than the apathy or numbness those darker months always came with.

He didn’t know how to put it into words, good words that she might be able to understand, and he hated the pain in his mom's voice and the tears in her eyes, so he shrugged and just said,

“I don’t know, I just feel sad sometimes.”

Whenever he hurt himself thereafter, he never burned himself and he always made sure it was somewhere no one would ever see.

By the time he was applying for the Garrison, anything he had done to himself was at least nearly healed.

He hadn’t done anything more since being accepted.

Lance shook his head, as if doing so would clear the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t, but it always felt good to try and do something about a pain you couldn’t touch.

He continued to walk for some time, silently sending retort after retort to his own thoughts, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of recent disturbance.

There was nothing, not a single speck of dirt out of place, no rocks or gravel scattered from the path by heavy Galra footfall. Not a thing.

“Hunk, you got anything on your side bud?”

“Not a thing, mi amigo. You about at the three mile mark on your side?”

Lance quickly pulled his map back up, sighing as he scanned the read out.

“Yeah and I got squat over here. Wanna bring it in and go home?”

“Dude, I am all about that packing it in for the day life right now. This place just gives me the creeps.”

Lance shook his head as he laughed, that spark of happiness enough to push down the thoughts he’d been retorting for the better part of an hour. He knew he was lucky to have Hunk as a friend.

“Alright man, I’ll see you outside.”

“Gotcha dude!”

As the com went silent again, Lance sighed to himself, frustrated. He’d never been one to love busy work, though he knew that everything they did, with Voltron training, with the intel gathering, with discussions about potential Galra activity, none of it was just to keep themselves busy. Still, feeling like he had been sent on a fool’s errand of sorts was disheartening.

He frowned, angry with his own line of thinking. They didn’t have time to be doing busy work, any and everything they did was a cog in the Voltron machine, everyone together working to the common goal of galactic freedom.

And he was having himself a little pity party.

Grinding his teeth, his anger pooling in his gut and gnawing at his insides, he kicked a fist sized rock ahead of him in frustration, watching as it smacked against the flat side of the rock wall, some part of himself pleased with the slight throb in his foot.

He wasn’t given enough time to really relish the pain in his foot as something shifted in the wall and, for a moment, Lance was afraid he had just started some sort of cave in.

Instead, what had once been a smooth, flat surface of stone crumbled under the small impact point, revealing an offshoot of the main walkway, the hole perfectly sized to fit him. Approaching the hole, Lance soon realized he need not flash his light down the new opening; there was a gentle, blue light already illuminating the edges.

He flipped his com back on as he entered the opening, whispering into it as he did.

“Hunk, I might actually have something here.”

“Is it Galra?” He heard Hunk whisper back, his tone more serious than he’d heard it all day.

“Not sure yet, I’ll let you know as I get a visual.” He said, his back hugging the wall as he willed his bayard into his gun, careful of his footing as he walked along the craggy ground.

“Wha--as--Lan--’re--tting out.”

Lance listened as static mostly overtook his friend’s voice, anxiety clutching at his gut as he listened. Great, if there really were Galra here, it looked like they might have some sort of jamming tech-

Lance’s thoughts stopped abruptly as he rounded the  only bend of the tunnel and immediately finding the hole open to a cavernous room. The ceiling easily reached upwards some fifty feet, the walls and floor made of some sort of smooth, black rock that wholey did not match the tunnel he had just come from. In the very center of the room lay one of the stranger things Lance had seen in his time in space; a shallow pool, the source of the gentle blue light shining from within it, surrounded by three statues, each in a different stance of prayer.

Lance stepped forward, making his way to the edge of the pool, his curiosity outweighing any concern he might have.

Whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t Galra.

“Hey Hunk, can you hear me?”

The comlink only buzzed at him, effectively useless. He sighed, looking around the room, looking for something that might tell him what this place used to be.

**_Lance_ **

He all but swivled on his heels, his gun cocked and ready to be aimed, his heart already thudding in his ears. His eyes flickered around the room, looking for shadows, looking for anything that might be hiding who ever called to him.

**_Lance_ **

“Ok, great yeah, you know my name. That’s nice and all, but why don’t you show me your face.”

His request was met with silence.

Suddenly, the blue light of the room shifted, changed, and Lance found himself all but socked in the back the room suddenly turned golden.

**_Lance_ **

He skidded to a halt on the floor, his bayard several feet in front of him, closer to the mouth of the room. He made to pick himself up, to get to his weapon, but the light pulsed again, pushing him down once more.

As the blueness returned to the pool, as Lance scrambled to his feet, he chanced a glance back as he grabbed his bayard.

The three statues at the edge of the pool had crumbled, their dust still settling and Lance ran faster than he had in awhile.

As soon as he was back in the main tunnel his com flickered back to life.

“-ance! Hey man come on if this is some kind of mean prank I am telling you right now, friend to friend, this is _very_ not cool!”

He took a second, gulping down air as he tried to steady his heartbeat, before he answered.

“Yeah, I’m here Hunk.”

“Lance, dude I’ve been trying to hail you for a few minutes now, what happened?”

Another deep gulp of air, a shake of his head, and Lance did his best to keep his voice steady.

“It was just a dead end with really bad reception. I’m back on my main path now, so we shouldn’t have any issues.”

“Whew, dude thank goodness, I was over here ready to have a panic attack or something.”

Lance forced a laugh and tried to ignore how badly his hands were shaking.

“Sorry about that, won’t let it happen again. You wanna race back to the front of the caves?”

“Eh, come on dude you said this was gonna be a nature walk earlier.”

“Well, yeah, but that was for going in, no one said it couldn’t end up being a nature run on the way out.”

“Lance-”

“On your mark-”

“Come on dude, are you really gonna make me run-”

“-get set-”

“Ok _fine_ but next planet with good food, you owe me a snack if I win!”

“That’s fair-go!”

Lance let his long legs carry him out of the cave, his heart thudding in his chest, his hands still shaking, and his body sore from where he’d been pushed by something he couldn’t see.

\--------------------------

The trip off the dead planet had been eventless, Lance still promising Hunk a snack on the next planet the visited even though he had handedly won their little race.

Their debriefing had been easy enough, Lance deciding to continue the trend of simply ignoring being pushed over by space ghosts in their report, but otherwise restating what they had suspected: Melemant was a dead planet, through and through.

The rest of the day had gone by in a blur, from easy conversations with Pidge and Hunk recounting to whoever would listen what Lance had promised on their next supply trip. Soon it was dinner time, than his nightly skin care ritual, and than bed.

When Lance dreamt that night, it was at first only darkness that clung to him like hot wax.

Not unusual for his dreams, unfortunately. Though, he often thought with a hint of bitterness, these sorts of dreams were far more manageable than the ones filled with fragmented battles, echoing screams, and a steady, burning ache in his chest and twisting panic in his gut that stayed with him hours after he awoke.

No, the oppressive darkness and a cold numbness was something he could manage well on his own, _thank you very much!_

Perhaps, when he was twelve and dealing with thoughts and dreams and heavy hearted mornings on his own for the first time, he would have thought differently. But now? Not so much.

As always, that darkness began to seep into him, whispering every awful thought and minor mistake he had done, every possible little insecurity that it could come up with.

And he let it do so, gladly.

With no will to keep such things at bay while asleep, he welcomed that inky darkness in his heart to swallow him up. This was something that had been with him since before the Lions, before the Galra, before everything else that kept him up at night. This he knew how to handle, this he knew how to placate. Let the dreams happen, let the words come, wake up hollowed and numb and do anything to feel alive.

Rinse, repeat, survive and keep moving.

But this time, he wasn’t swallowed. Instead, with the words his heart and mind had come to believe to be the truth to a degree, there were fragments of sentences, other voices calling to him, calmly retorting each painful thought.

 _So worthless._ **_You are loved beyond measure._ **

_Not good enough._ **_You are capable and kind._ **

_Can’t even be normal._ **_The universe is too strange for anything to be normal._ **

_What’s the point of being alive._ **_You exist to be you and that is more than enough._ **

_Such a burden._ **_You are selfless and you are so good, Lance._ **

Lance woke as the voice said his name, his face streaked with tears. He lay there for an untold amount of time, unable to stop his eyes from filling and pooling, regardless of how many times he he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes.

He lay there for some time, having given up on trying to stop his tears, reeling at his dream. He would not sleep the rest of the night, but he would find himself well rested for the first time in months.

When he joined the other for breakfast a few hours later, thee skin around his eyes still puffy, despite his best efforts, it was actually Shiro who asked him if he was feeling ok.

He smiled and brushed off his leader’s concern, saying how he had tried a new face mask this morning and things hadn’t worked in his favor.

It was normally so easy to lie like that, to rinse, repeat, survive and keep moving.

But, as he ate his morning space goo, his thoughts kept turning back to those gentle, kind voices.

**_You are selfless and you are so good, Lance._ **

He swallowed thickly, taking a sip of water to wash down his last bite of food.

He didn’t want to admit how _nice_ it had been to hear something like that, even just in a dream.


	2. How to Fall Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance learns how to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart commissioned by KrystalizX on tumblr found here: https://krystalizxkun.tumblr.com/image/172643421235

For the next week, Lance sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up every morning so well rested he wonders how he’s functioned before now.

No nightmares. No issue falling asleep. No waking up every few hours and restlessly tossing and turning for hours after.

And it’s not just him that benefits from the sort of sleep he was getting. He found himself more focused in training, more attentive in team meetings, less inclined to pick an argument for the hell of it, and more inclined to listen rather than interject without thought.

At some point, Hunk takes notice and pokes at him, half joking when he asks,

“Who are you and where’d Lance go?”

He smiles, genuinely pleased with the joke, and ruffles Hunk’s hair in response.

“Nah man, you know me, I’m always on fire like this.”

Unfortunately, as Lance had learned time and time again, most decent things had a tendency of changing unexpectedly.

It happens the eighth night since he and Hunk’s intel mission and it ends up being one of the worst nightmares Lance has ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

It start off empty and peaceful, like his dreams had been for the last few nights.

And then it suddenly isn’t. He knows where he is, knows that its a firefight and that Blue is in pain and that things are going south quickly. He knows that there’s panic and fear so tangible in his chest it feels like acid.

Those voices are there again, gentle but earnest, but he can barely hear them over the roar of his own heart in his ears.

**_You survived this._ **

**_It’s just a dream._ **

**_Breath Lance, just-_ **

But the voice is cut off as something hits him head on, hits him with the force of a bomb, hits him and breaks Blue and he’s burning and freezing and dying all at once-

He wakes up with a violent suddenness, his hands clutching the fabric of his blanket, the sheets tangled in his legs, his body coated in sweat. His heart feels like it might burst from his chest, his lungs gulping down air like a drowned man.

After a moment of frozen panic, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his room, Lance sits up in his bed, untangling his legs from the sheets, only to cross them and lean his elbows heavily against his knees, cradling his face in his hands.

He knew that fight and he knew how close it had been; it hadn’t even been a full month since then and it had just been two weeks since he finished the final fixes on Blue.

He’d gone over every move, every near miss, every missed opportunity, nearly every day since that mission.

It had been all adrenaline and yelling and cheers of victory as they finally turned the tide in the battle and the Galra ships fled. But when those things had faded, after the rebel outpost had been relocated and their words of thanks were done and all that was left was to get ready for the next day, that was when Lance finally let it hit him.

They had all almost died. Had the lions been any less sturdy, had any one of them not moved exactly as they had, they wouldn’t be here. There was no way to deny the truth of the situation, they should be dead.

Lance had spent that evening sleeplessly trying to plug his ears against the crashing noises and blaring alarms Blue had thrown at him when they’d been hit, trying not to remember how they made his ears ring for hours after. Some part of him wondered, god, how would they go back out there, how would they manage to do that over and over and over again.

When Lance went to breakfast the following morning, it was like nothing had happened.

Hunk was making, or attempting to make with their than limited supplies, something that could be considered breakfast food. All smiles and easy chatter and questions to Coran about what ingredient could be used for what.

Pidge had already been busily making notes on a schematic of Blue, animatedly explaining to him how the diagnostic tests had gone and how really, for how bad that hit had looked Blue had rolled with the punches so much better than she would have thought.

Keith and Shiro were, like always, quietly taking in what was being said around them.

He remembers wondering if they all really hadn’t realized how close all of them had been to death. He remembers wondering if he was just overreacting, like usual.

He agreed, silently and to himself, that it was surely the latter.

So, when the nightmares of that fight, twisted and changed by his anxieties of what could of happened, what had almost happened, began, he firmly told himself he was just being a big baby.

It had just been a fight.

They would be in other fights. Again and again and again-

That was usually when he decided to leave his bed, to pace his room, to move his few belongings around, to change his sheets and fold any loose clothes and maybe take a long walk around the castle maybe actually a light jog ok maybe actually an all out sprint-

He knew he was being ridiculous. Knew that this was just a fact of his life now and he needed to learn to deal with it.

Rinse, repeat, survive and keep moving.

Still, just like every other time such a dream had surfaced, Lance found himself unable to stop the train of thought in his head, was unable to squash the pit of tangled anxiety and panic in his guts that had become more normal than ever because, you know, it was only a fight and he would have to do it again, had done it again, it wasn’t an issue, wasn’t a problem whatsoever-

It takes him only a second to slip out if his sleep clothes and into something he can go running in. Running was easy, just a pattern of of feet and breathing, the easy flow of _one-two-three-four one-two-three-four_ as he does laps around the training room.

It was an easy pattern to focus on, an easy thing to let himself fall into step with.

His mind can’t wander as easily when his lungs ache and his legs burn and he’s thankful for it.

When Lance joined the team in the dining hall for breakfast nearly two hours later, he’s limbless, sweaty and panting.

“I see someone was doing some early morning training.” Shiro says, greeting him with an easy expression on his face, one that Lance had come to learn meant he was pleased.

Lance had yet to catch his breath, so all he could do was smile and nod, happily accepting the water pack that Hunk tossed at him.

“Did you get to any new levels in the simulator, my boy?” Coran said, smoothing his mustache into place.

Lance thinks of burning and freezing and dying all at once.

“Nah, sorry Coran, I just felt like going on a run.”

Rinse, repeat, survive and keep moving.

\-----------------------

Coran was the sort of individual that prided himself on not missing the minute details of situations, every day or otherwise.

Knowing how _just_ to angle your head when you bowed in greeting on the planet Ja’am, so as to show respect and not insinuate anything rude about someone's mother, was one of Coran’s personal favorites.

True, while there were moments and missteps in what was otherwise a sparkling career of astute observation, Coran knew he was good at what he did.

So, when he couldn’t pinpoint what was going on with the Paladins for the third time in the same week during training simulations, it made Coran uneasy.

He knew they had all been well fed this morning, had gotten what he had concluded was at least sustainable amounts of sleep for humans, were hydrated and should be ready to go and face the day. But still, they seemed sluggish. Their movements not in sync, their coordination shaky as it had been for the last few days.

Humans, he was finding out readily every single day, were interesting and extremely hard to nail down when it came to these minute details.

He’d seen enough of them to know that this may be due to some sort of fight or disagreement between them, particularly if sour emotions had settled in between Lance and Keith once more. Though, when probing Shiro after the final practice round for the day, asking him if there was anything going on that he might know of, the eldest of the humans had shaken his head.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed something’s off though, thanks for watching our backs Coran.”

Coran’s mustache twitched, pleased that his observations had been right.

Coran: 1.

Small Details Missed: 0.

“I wonder, Shiro, do you think perhaps another mind-meld exercise might help uncover the problem? I hate to say it, but while this one gut-feeling seems to have been right, with me still trying to grow accustomed to what is and isn’t normal behavior for you all, it’s hard for me to really nail down where there may be some need for improvement.”

He watched as Shiro pushed his lips together, mulling the thought over as he looked out at his charges from where he stood at the observation deck.

“Not yet, let me see if I can get them to talk with me first before we ask them to do that again.”

Coran nodded, following Shiro’s line of sight, deflating slightly as he watched Pidge and Lance use their bayards to form a rope of some configuration, swinging it in such a way that Hunk could jump over it each time as it smacked the floor. This, from what he had been told, was jump-rope, a child’s game back on earth.

“Excuse me, my dearest Paladins, I must implore you to not use the ancient Altean technology for your rope-jumping games!” Coran called over their coms, the three guilty parties straightening up immediately at the sound of his voice, their sheepish smiles apparent even from where he stood.

Coran chuckled softly to himself, despite his stern sounding reprimand. Paladins and protectors of the universe though they may be, Coran knew they were still just children in their own rights.

It was later that night during his indulgence of a cup of tea with a Snookie (a crunchy delightful bite, which the name of had become some kind of inside joke between Pidge and Hunk), that Coran bumped into Lance as he was leaving the dining hall.

“Well, good evening Lance! I assume you’re on your way to grab a snack like myself?” He said, his voice chipper and animated despite the late hour.

It was the look on the young man’s face that caught Coran off guard. Eyes too wide, painfully alert, blinking too much and too fast, it all reminded him for a moment of how Shiro looked when he found him doing multiple sweeps of the castle on sleepless nights.

And than it was gone and had Coran not known what he was seeing to begin with, he might have thought he imagined it.

“Ah, sorry Coran, I just, I guess I was looking for you?”

Coran cocked an eyebrow involuntarily, his delight for his evening snack forgotten and replaced with concern for the young Paladin. Lance had yet to seek him out before, let alone at such a late hour.

“Well, what might I be able to do for you, my boy?” He said, keeping his tone light, quickly doing a once over on Lance, trying to see if anything was immediately amiss with him physically.

Skin slightly pale, hair just askew, and a pink sort of puffiness around the eyes that Coran has come to learn means a human hasn’t slept well.

“Uh, well, so like, the thing is I’m just having a bit of trouble getting to sleep for, you know just a little bit and it’s normally not a very big deal and I guess it’s still not but-”

Coran held a hand up, effectively stopping Lance’s nervous ramble, a sigh stuck in his chest; there were some instances where he wished he could be wrong about his observations for once.

“Say no more, my dear Paladin, we’ll make a stop at the infirmary and have you sleeping like a pubescent Trilinak in no time!”

Coran flashes Lance what he knows to be a warm smile and sets out towards the infirmary, Lance in tow. He does not miss the realeaved look on his companion’s face when he does not prob further as to what might be keeping him up.

It’s not long before Coran had an appropriate sleep aid in hand, his Snooki and tea forgotten on the counter as he went through the details of the medication.

“Now, since it’s already so late, this little fella here should be good for at least a few hours rest,” he said, placing a small spherical tablet into the boy’s out waiting hand, “while these two you can use should you find yourself unable to sleep in the future. But, should we need to come up with something more long term, you should know you need only ask, Lance.”

He does not miss how quickly Lance is to swallow down the first, tiny pill and to pocket the other, slightly larger two. He does not miss the way Lance immediately tries to duck from the room, his thanks tied up in his apologies for keeping him from his evening treat.

“Lance,” he says this, placing a hand on the paladin’s shoulder, “are you quite sure that’s the only thing I can help you with?”

He sees Lance pause, sees how his jaw sets itself and how his eyes flicker for a moment-

“Nah Coran, I’m just tired. Thanks for the help though.” He says, refusing to meet Coran’s eyes as he made a quick exit from the infirmary.

Coran finds himself standing there for quite some time after, staring at the shut door, his hand smoothing his mustache as he did. Perhaps, when it came to humans Coran thought, he was more of an amatuer with reading them than he thought he was.

By the time he turned back to his tea and treat, the cup was cold and his appetite for a snack was gone.

\---------------------------------------

The night he asked Coran for the sleep aid is the first hours of peaceful rest Lance has gotten all week and, though he may never be able to express it properly, he is infinitely thankful to the older Altean.

While not rested as much as he would have liked, Lance feels closer to what his normal is than he has in days. No need for an early morning jog, no need to clean his room or fight sounds and smells out of his head as he woke up.

He dresses, ready to take on what the day had to offer.

That night, after several grueling hours of battling to take back a small planet and several more grueling hours thereafter of festivities and political conversations and smiling till his face hurts, Lance is sinking into his bed and hopes that he is tired enough to just fall asleep.

When his head hits the pillow and his thoughts near immediately start in with the analyzing and the depreciation and the going over every single little thing he might have said better, he just rolls his eyes, reaches for one of the sleep aids still in his pyjama pocket, and swallows it dryly, grimacing as it leaves a slightly bitter taste down his throat.

No way was he about to deal with anything else today when all he wanted to do was rest.

As the medication took hold, quieting his mind and making his eyes too heavy to keep open, Lance sighed in relief.

He does not dream of near misses in battle nor of black oiled goop that tries to seep into his skin and remind him of how he could be better.

Instead, he dreams of a beach where he sits comfortably, the night sky twinkling above him, the sound of crashing waves off some ways in front of him. The sand is soft and still slightly warm as he digs his feet into it, a smile spreading on his face from the feel of it. He was content and all was good.

He can feel a frown forming on his face as he crosses his arms.

Ok, no, this surely wasn’t normal for him. There was no panic rising in his chest, no cold apathy trickling in his veins.

This was new and it was weird and Lance didn’t know what to do with it.

**_Our apologies, Lance. We thought, perhaps, after the last few restless nights, a more calming dream woven by us would be appropriate._ **

Yeah, ok, so this was definitely different than any dream he’d had before.

As if responding to his thought, a trio of humanoids materialized several feet before him.

One was young, young enough to be his little sister, and immited unbridled joy. The second had a serene look to her, though he could not make out her features, and was old enough to be his mother. The third was wizened and made of nothing but wrinkled smiles and warmth, old enough to be his grandma if she had still been alive.

Some part of his objective mind knew that this was all sorts of odd, that this should be alarming to him. But it wasn’t. All the more emotion he could muster up on the matter was ust...calmness.

 _What are you?_   He asked, unsure anymore if he thought the words or said them out loud.

**_We are the last of the Melema, Lance, and we are here to help you, our heart of Voltron, in anyway that we can._ **

A wave of appreciation and warmth washed over him at their words. He unfolded his arms, brow still furrowed, eyes shifting between the three of them, trying to understand what all this was. He could tell they were smiling at him, though he could not see their mouths.

_What’s that supposed to even mean-_

Lance woke up gently, in the quiet of his dark room, well rested despite the extremely early hour and feeling...something.

He slowly sat up, pressing a palm to his chest, his brow furrowed. His dream did not diminish, did not start to fade away as he sat there, those waves of appreciation and warmth still crashing over him in tune with the sounds of the ocean crashing against the shore. The faces of three woman he could not hold in his mind’s eyes, but all of whom reminded him of someone he loved.

It made him antsy, uncomfortable, and happy all at once.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed, trying to focus on the coolness of the floor under him as he stood up, his arms crossing once more as he paced around his room.

So, this was a thing now.

Space ladies showing up in his dreams, whispering kindness to him against nightmares and old terrible thoughts, saying they’ll help him however he needed, calling him things like the heart of Voltron and more or less being his personal cheerleading squad.

His brow furrowed further as he wracked his thoughts, trying to piece together what the hell all that had been about. He’d never had a dream like that before, had never had something gently push against his nightmares for him, to help him turn the tide on something he’d grown so accustomed to. He’d never had a dream like that or like the one before that or like the one he had the night after he and Hunk’s intel mission-

He eyes widen as his thoughts flickered back to that room, bathed in soft blue light, with three statues in varying stances of prayer.

“Oh yeah, _duh_ Lance.” He said out loud to no one, leaving his room behind.

\-----------------

Shiro has a nightly routine that, for the most part, has worked for him in the months since he became the leader of Voltron.

22:00: lights out for his team members, most already in bed or near it by 21:30.

22:15: a cup of tea, recommended to him personally by Coran, something that was supposed to help with relaxation and promote a good night’s rest. It worked sometimes but, often, it was more of a creature comfort really.

22:45: bed, lights out for himself.

22:46.02: double check mentally that he’d remembered to make sure the castles systems were nominal before getting into bed.

22:46.34: having convinced himself that, yes, he’d checked on that, he remembers messing with the parameters just a bit, turns his thoughts back to sleep.

22:46.57: or was he remembering that from last night and maybe he hadn’t actually done anything tonight.

22:47: deciding to get up and just do one more check, one more sweep, just to be sure.

23:01: second sweep done, Coran’s probing question of “Did you drink that tea I gave you?” answered succinctly with activity from 22:15, lies back in bed and does what he can to empty his mind of thoughts and rest for the day.

02:12: this happened sometimes, where even after a second sweep and several rounds of convincing himself that yes, everything was fine, it was ok to rest now, just take a deep breath and count backwards from ten, that he would find himself still up, still thinking, still planning-

Shiro sighed, rubbing his face with his human hand, staring up at the ceiling. This just wouldn’t do. They had just celebrated yet another victory, there was no reason to be this nervous about falling asleep. In fact, he thought with a certain level of annoyance, he really should be too tired to keep his eyes open. And, true, his eyes burned with exhaustion and his muscles ached and, _really_ , it should have been everything he needed to finally just sink into sleep.

And yet, here he was, staring at his ceiling, running through every possible thing he might need to check on, might need to ensure was ok, might need to work on come morning.

He sighed again, promptly pulling himself from his mattress and yanking the blankets off himself, pressing his feet firmly into the floor before standing. He’d find Coran, ask him for something a little stronger than the tea to help him sleep...after he did one more, little tiny sweep.

Just to make sure.

It’s when he finds Lance back wandering the halls, a holopad in his hand, muttering under his breath, that had Shiro fully on alert once more.

“Lance, what’re you doing out of bed?” Shiro keeps his voice low and even, yet it still has Lance jumping slightly, nearly dropping the pad as he does.

Shiro watches him catch himself for that second, that split moment, and for a moment he sees some of himself in Lance. Eyes too wide, painfully alert, blinking too much and too fast and, seeing that reflected back at him in someone he was supposed to be a leader for, a source of comfort to, hand Shiro’s hear clenching painfully for a moment. But just a moment.

“Oh, hey Shiro. Sorry, I just went to grab a holopad to do some research on. I’m going right back to bed now.” Lance says, his eyes normal once more as he makes to pass easily by his leader, attention back to the small pad in his hand.

Before he can completely blow Shiro off, completely leave him in that hallway, Shiro raches out and gently takes Lance’s elbow in his hand, locking eyes with him as he says,

“Lance, you know you can come to me, to anyone on the team, if something is bothering you, right?”

He watches carefully, watches as Lance’s eyes widen just a little and his jaw st itself firm in his mouth and he knows that sort of look of contemplation, has seen it in the mirror before-

“I know. Thanks though, Shiro.”

Before he can say anything else, Lance has already broken Shiro’s grip on his elbow and is on the move, his footfalls just shy of a jog as he goes.

Shiro sets his mouth into a thin line, and sighs as he watches his young wrds back as he retreats further down the hall.

02:34: Shiro continues his third sweep of the night, worrying about his Paladins as he goes.

\--------------

Lance spends the next few days turning in early for the night, turning down invitations from both Pidge and Hunk on separate occasions to come see something funny, to come play a game with them.

He knows he’ll have to make it up to them later but, for once, he’s got something he has to figure out.

It had been his own dumb antics that had lead him down to that blue lit room on Melemant, it would be his own dumbass to figure out what it was that he brought back from it

True to the briefing he and Hunk had been given, very little information, concrete information anyways, existed about the planet anymore.

The only thing consistent with the reports and findings and old wives tales he could dig up was that the people from Melemant had been known for their empathy. So much so, that it was now theorized that they had empathic abilities, the means to feel others’ emotions through touch or thought alone.

He thinks about the dreams he’s been having, of the gentle waves of reassurance and warmth that brushed against him every time a nightmare so much as tried to creep into his thoughts and part of him thinks he understands what the reports are getting at. The feelings come with words, gentle hands ghosting over the crown of his head as he sleeps, always leaving behind the same message when he wakes up.

**_You are loved. You are safe. You are enough._ **

When he wakes up every morning, well rested but feeling antsy and happy and like this comfort is wasted on someone like him, he keeps those waves of gentle kindness close to his heart, letting them crash over him when his mind tries to zero in on a simple mistake, tries to convince him that he is not needed, that there is no reason for him to be there.

He knows it’s selfish, keeping something like this secret, when he knows that it could be something he should be worried about. He knows he needs to tell someone about this; Shiro, Coran, Hunk, literally anyone, because at this point, it’s becoming a crutch whose source is still an unknown to him. He knows he should tell someone. He knows this.

But, everytime he climbs into bed and does not have to face those familiar darknesses alone, a part of him is less inclined to do so and he hates himself for that weakness.

It’s about a month since he and Hunk’s mission to Melemant and it’s the first time that he carefully, tentatively, sends his own little wave back out to sea, just a little hello of sorts.

The response is immediate, the three figures before him on a beach clocked in a clear night sky, immiting kindness and warmth, just as they had for him every night prior.

There’s a beat, a silence, a pause, before he says anything this time.

_So, uh, I guess I should thank you guys. For, you know, all that positive vibe stuff you’ve been sending my way._

With faces he cannot quite make out, he can feel them smile at him, their warmth somehow doubling as they do.

**_You are most welcome, dear Lance. Like we said before, we are here to help you in whatever manner we can._ **

He pauses again, tapping his fingers against his knees as he does so.

_Yeah, so, I know you said that last time but, uh, feel like I’m still not clear on this. What, um, what exactly are you here to help me with?_

They look to each other and slight confusion rolls off of them, in tune with the crashing of the waves behind them.

 **_Lance,_ ** they say in unison, **_there is a wound, a pain, in your heart, in your mind, that has only grown as you’ve grown. We saw it the moment you stepped into our temple, the moment you even began to approached our planet. There is so much you have carried, before you ever stepped foot near the Blue Lion. She knows, just as we know, that such a pain cannot be left festering as it has been._ **

The waves of concern flowing from them made Lance’s ears and neck burn in embarrassment.

This was all very new to him, having someone understand inherently what he felt and just knowing how hard it all could be. His mind flickers to stinging wounds on his hips and the feeling like he just got sucker punched, but he quickly brushes it off as best he can.

_It’s not...it’s really not that big of a deal. I can handle it. I’ve done it all my lif-_

**_No one should have to shoulder something like this. Would you ask it of your friends to remain silent, to self-sooth in a darkened room, to hold in thoughts of pain and worthlessness? Would you ask them to bare that agony all alone?_ **

He swallows thickly, the cold heat of embarrassment creeping further down his shoulders. Why did these strangers care so much about him?

Why did they care so much, when his own grandmother had warned him not to talk about such things. Warned him that others would judge him, would look at him differently, would be afraid of how dark his thoughts could get. Years before a recruiter from the Galaxy Garrison ever came to his family home, those words had been seared into him.

His grandmother hadn’t understood.

But these strangers did.

The faces of the Melema frown and their concern for him does not ebb away. He can feel it, like always, crash over him and there’s suddenly a cold pit of panic in his chest as he takes in their question once more, thinking on it seriously.

He thinks of Hunk, shaking under a blanket, holding back tears and biting his lip until it scabs and bleeds, feeling like he he deserves whatever terrible emotion was coursing through him.

Just like Lance had done before.

He thinks of Pidge, staring too long, uncomfortably long, at the knife she was using to peel a spud like vegetable for dinner, the insscent thought of _better off dead better off dead better of dead_ on some terrible loop in her head.

Just like Lance had done before.

He thinks of Keith, tearing through space, performing reckless maneuver after reckless maneuver, some part of his mind hoping with every ounce of energy he could feed it, _please please please don’t let me come back from this fight._

Just like Lance had done before.

He thinks of Shiro, pushing himself to near exhaustion in the training room because, goddammit, it was easier to fall asleep when you were so tired your brain didn’t even have the energy to loop through every wrong word, every misstep, every awful memory in your past.

Just like Lance had done before.

**_No one should have to shoulder something like this, these thoughts, these emotions, all alone.  You would not ask your friends, your family, to take on something like this. Why do you expect the impossible of yourself?_ **

Lance wakes up with their question ringing in his ears, crying again, curled in on himself, his heart aching in time with each beat.

He felt so heavy, felt so small, felt so much like everything at once it just _hurt_.

God, he hadn’t felt like this since he’d gathered the courage to ask his grandma if it was normal to feel sad so much and when she had responded with a look of confusion. How she had told him not to think about such things, how things would get better, he would see. He hadn’t brought it up again.

A particularly powerful sob threatens him to break from him, but with well worn practice, he grinds his teeth against it, pushing his hands against his eyes, willing for it to stop and let him get on with his day and just-

He thinks about the image conjured in his dream, of Hunk, shaking under a blanket, holding back tears and biting his lip until it scabs and bleeds, feeling like he deserves whatever terrible emotion was coursing through him.

Just like Lance was currently doing.

Another sob pushes behind the first and it’s all Lance can do to tightly holding his pillow to his face and pull his comforter over his head, hoping to block out some of the noise he was now making.

**_Why do you expect the impossible of yourself?_ **

The question rings in his mind again and he finally admits the answer to himself.

_Because I deserve to feel like this._

\-----------------------

When Hunk knocked on Lance’s door, ready to get his friend up and at it for the day, he had expected it to take a second for Lance to answer, groggy and eyes heavy lidded as he normally would this early in the day.

But when a full thirty seconds passed and another knock to the door yielded nothing, Hunk frowned, scratching at a spot on his back as he did so.While it wasn’t uncommon for him to be the reason for Lance waking up, his friend was a light sleeper and tended to only need a knock or two to actually stir.

Sighing, Hunk knocked again, this time calling out  as he did so.

“Hey Lance, buddy, it’s time to get up. Look, Coran is actually trying his hand a making something for breakfast this morning and I know you’ve been dying to see that.”

When the door remained shut and no familiar sound of a heavy footed, still half asleep Lance could be heard from behind the door, a cold hand of anxiousness began to grab at Hunk’s insides.

“Lance, buddy, I’m gonna come in ok?”

When no response came, Hunk pressed the control pad with a practiced hand, stepping into the room once opened.

Lance’s room, Hunk noticed, had not changed much since their first day on board the castle, sove for what looked like may have been Lance reorganizing the furniture. There were still only a handful of personal items that could tell you someone actually lived there.

The main one being the extra large comforter that Lance had bought the first chance they had gotten, saying something about how the sheets on the ship just weren’t bougie enough for him. It had drawn a smile to Hunk’s face at the time.

It was now, though, looking at that same comforter, wrapped around a Lance shaped lump, that Hunk felt a frown creep onto his face instead.

“Hey Lance, you awake? Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

The lump shifted, seemed to curl in on itself more, and Hunk knew something wasn’t right.

He closed the gap between him and the bed, immediately kneeling to Lance’s bedside, his hand already looking for Lance’s shoulder in the lump under the comforter. He found it quickly, shaking it gently, confirming that his friend was good and awake as he curled into a somehow smaller ball. He couldn’t see his friend, Lance apparently having decided to cover even his head in the mess of blankets at some point in the night, but Hunk didn’t need to see him to hear how ragged and wet his breathing was.

“Hey, hey, come on man, what’s going on?”

From under the blanket came a muffled, small response.

“Nothing.”

That anxious knot in his stomach twisted slightly at the sound. Lance’s voice was hoarse and tight and Hunk could literally hear the sob trying to break behind the word.

He’d seen Lance cry before, hell, next to himself, Lance was the second most crying inclined person he’d ever met. But this, this wasn’t the same. This felt heavier, not the jovial tears or the joke tears or even the angry tears he had seen from Lance before.

“Doesn’t really sound like nothing, if you ask me.” He said, his hand finding Lance’s shoulder once more, his mouth forming a thin line as he did. For all his best efforts, Hunk could feel Lance’s shoulder shaking, trembling under his hand.

When Lance didn’t respond and the only sound that came from under the blanket was a muffled sniffle, Hunk found his hand searching for the edge of the blanket of its own accord, pulling it back just enough for him to see Lance’s face.

While Hunk had seen Lance emotional before, it had never been like this. If he had to guess, Lance had probably been crying on and off for the better part of a few hours. His eyes were puffy, bloodshot, and painfully red, his cheeks streaked with dried tears, his nose a runny mess. Worse still, in Hunk’s oh so honest opinion, he just looked so, so miserable.

“Whoa, hey, Lance, buddy, what’s going on?” He kept his tone even and soft, pulling the comforter off him a little further, just enough that he could rest his hand against the smaller boy’s shoulder. Without the thick comforter, Lance’s shaking was so much more noticeable and some part of him wondered how long he’d been laying here in the dark, crying under a blanket.

That same part of him ached at the thought alone.

“I-I’m fin-” Lance started, that sob from earlier finally breaking from his chest, his face breaking with it. Quickly, as if letting his friend see him like this was the worst thing possible, Lance pushed his hands to his face, hiding himself from view once more, his sobbing muffled again.

Hunk shifted, ever so slightly, so that he sat instead of couched on the floor at Lance’s bedside, his hand still on his shoulder, trying his best to silently let Lance know he was there.

“It’s ok Lance, hey, just take a deep breath with me, ok?” Hunk said, doing everything he could to make sure his own deep breath was steady.

Lance nodded from behind his hands, following along with as they breathed in and out, in and out together, his shoulders still shaking as they went.

It was at least a minute before Lance swallowed heavily, moving his hands from his face, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he did so.

“Thanks Hunk.” he said, voice quiet and ragged.

“Any time man...so,” he said, moving from his kneeled position to sit on the very edge of the mattress, “wanna tell me what’s got you upset?”

Lance falls silent at this, his jaw setting itself into a frown as he does so and, for a moment, Hunk’s afraid his best friend is going to clam up on him. Like he’d done at the Garrison when Hunk could tell something was off and had tried time and time and time again just to get him to answer the simple question of _‘Hey man, are you sure you’re ok?’_

“It’s not really anything, it’s actually pretty stupid, I just...had a weird dream.”

Hunk cocks an eyebrow slightly at the admission. Well, it was a start, and it was more than anything he had ever gotten out of him before.

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers, his hand still on his shoulder.

He can feel Lance’s shrug and again he’s worried that’s where this conversation will end.

“I don’t really know if I can, like,” Lance starts once more, wiping a loose tear that had yet to dry against his face with his sleeve, “it just felt bad. Like, I wouldn;t call it a nightmare but it still felt weird.”

“Well, what do you remember about it?”

Hunk knows he’s pushed his luck with that question when he sees Lance cross his arms to his chest, his eyes staring at a space on the far wall. So, when Lance answers him, his voice weary and warbling again, he’s surprised by the answer.

“I was so _tired_ Hunk. Like...yeah.” He finishes lamely, his eyes still on that spot on the far wall.

He’d only ever heard that tone of voice once before, especially when using the word tired. His sister, a several years older than him, only a few days before she’d been found in her apartment, hanging in a closet.

Hunk, with his hand still on his friend’s shoulder and a pebble of cold, dark panic sinking into his guts, wishes that Shiro was here to help him navigate this conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking tired but this felt good to write.


	3. How to Take Babysteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance learns to take babysteps.
> 
> Art commissioned by the lovely spiderlocker, he did such a amaaaazing job and was a delight to work with!!! 
> 
> Tumblr found here: http://spiderlocker.tumblr.com/
> 
> Commission info found here: http://spiderlocker.tumblr.com/commission

Keith would probably never think of himself as someone who knew how to handle a difficult conversation. Like, sure, if push came to shove and he needed someone to understand what he meant and not just hear what he said, he could make it work.

Mostly.

So, when he hears Hunk’s voice from the hallway through the opened doorway of Lance’s room (he’d bet what GAC they had that Hunk was the one to leave it like that, the other boy always had his own bedroom door opened unless he was asleep), he pauses, trying to decide if telling them that breakfast was ready was a good idea right now.

“-anna talk about it?”

He digs his hands further into his pockets and makes to take a small step back, ready to turn and silently walk back the way he’d come. No way was he about to get in the way of some early morning conversation between his teammates. Especially not when he knew Hunk had already mentioned in passing that he was worried that something seemed off about Lance.

Well, not so much made mention of in passing, more like he had been muttering about it while he was trying out a new recipe in the kitchen just the day before.

The bigger paladin had a habit of talking himself through things out loud when deep enough in thought. Keith made a mental note to bring it to his attention sometime.

“I don’t really know if I can, like, it just felt bad. Like, I wouldn’t call it a nightmare, but it still felt weird.”

Now that, the sound of Lance’s voice weary and heavy in his response, that gave Keith reason to pause, to press his shoulders against the wall, to wait just a little longer. Yeah, he may not be the best with conversations but, dammit, no one was ever going to say he didn’t try to help if he thought he could.

“Well, what do you remember about it?” Hunk’s voice again, calm and relaxing in a way that Keith knew he didn’t know how to be.

Quietly, he shifted his weight back to his feet and his shoulders off the wall; Lance would be fine. Hunk was there and knew how to ask the right questions and knew how to be a comfort. Whatever Keith might add would just muck things up.

So he turns, determined to leave his teammates to their conversation.

“I was so _tired_ Hunk. Like...yeah.”

That has Keith pausing once more, cold fingers wrapping around his gut at the sound in Lance’s voice.

He suddenly finds himself thinking about his dad, holed up in his room for days at a time, only eating or drinking the things Keith could reach from the cupboards and sink. It’s an odd, detached existence substantiated on boxes of peanut butter crackers, easy to peel tangerines, and ice cubes from water spotted glasses.

_“Sorry Keith, dad’s just a little tired today. I’m going to take a nap and I’ll be up before you know it bud.”_

When Child Protective Services finally shows up, Keith’s missed nearly three weeks worth of school and had been going down to the corner store with change in his pockets for food for just as long. In a nearly too colorful room with toys older than him, a woman asks him questions, gently trying to get him to give her answers.

_“Keith, you’re not in trouble and won’t be in trouble for talking with us. We know you were trying to help your dad and you did a good job, you really did. We just need to know, how long has it been since he’s gotten up on his own? Since he’s gone to work or made you a meal?”_

At the time, Keith had shrugged, having the distinct feeling that he was being asked to answer something other kids wouldn’t even know about.

His dad had always been like that, at least a little bit.

Always tired, always needing to lie down for an hour or two when he got home, always making sure the food he kept in the house was easy enough for a young kid to make on his own if need be.

It’d really only been in the last year or so that Keith found he needed to help his dad do basic, everyday things in the morning to get ready for work and get himself ready for school, he tells the nice lady.

It’d really only been the last month that he couldn’t convince his dad to get out of bed at all. So, much like his how his dad had taken care of him whenever he’d been sick, Keith decided to stay home and take care of his dad, he tries to explain.

It’s years and nearly a half dozen foster homes later when he finally understands that someone saying they’re tired can mean more than just needing to take a nap.

His mouth sets into a thin line, his hands clenched into fists inside his pockets as the memory creeps a coldness into his bones. Quietly, carefully, Keith walks away, back to the dinning hall, back to where he knows Shiro is.

He’d been too passive as a kid to really help his dad, even though his case worker had told him time and time again that it hadn’t been his job to do that in the first place.

He’d been too angry and ready to fix things with a few short words to help anyone who needed a listening ear in his foster homes.

This wasn’t something he could help with and he knew it.

Shiro would know what to do, would know how to help with something like this. He always knew what to do.

\-----------------------------------------

Shiro would never say he was someone who knew how to properly handle a difficult conversation. But, given the need, he would do his best to rise to the occasion, because, really, what else could be done?

So, when Keith returns to the dining room from being asked to go gather Hunk and Lance for breakfast and catches Shiro’s eye from the doorway, he immediately knows something has to be going on.

“Oh, good morning Keith! Are you gonna stand in the doorframe all day or you gonna get in here and enjoy these marvelous flap cakes I’ve made?” It’s Coran who says this, a chipperness in his voice a now constant in their lives that was soothing in its own way.

“Uh, actually, I need to see Shiro. For like, just a second.”

He’s already out of his seat and nearly to Keith by the time he’s finished speaking.

“We’ll be back in a tick guys, keep enjoying your breakfast ok?” Shiro calls behind him, his hand on Keith’s shoulder as they walk a few paces back down the hallway.

This was something he knew how to navigate, had done it enough times that there was a pattern to it all. He knew there were moments when Keith would find his thoughts overwhelming or, more often, his understanding about a situation needed clarity or context that he just didn’t know where to find elsewhere. Shiro was always happy to be an ear to vent to or to act like an extra filter to help Keith sort through things. So, when he turns to face him, the question of _Tell me what's on your mind_ already on his tongue, the next words from Keith surprise him.

“I think Hunk needs your help.” He says this simply, so matter of factly and without immediate follow up that it has Shiro balking for a moment.

“Wha- ok wait, let’s back up a tick. What makes you think Hunk needs help?”

He can feel Keith’s shoulder tense up under his hand and he knows he’s mulling over what to say next.

Normally, this would be something he’d be happy to see. Instinctive, hot-headed, brash Keith taking the time to ponder his words before saying them. But Shiro’s own anxieties were already rearing their heads as he silently began to wonder if there had been some sort of breach somewhere in their defenses, had him hoping his morning sweep haven't missed anythi-

“I overheard Hunk talking with Lance in his room and it just...I don’t know, it sounded serious. I didn’t want to mess things up so I came to get you.”

Keith said the last sentence softly, just above a whisper and Shiro sighs, his own worries buried down again for the moment. Like always, in his own way, Keith was doing what he could to help.

When he’d first looked at Keith’s file and application when he was still in the Galaxy Garrison, his fellow pilots on recruiting duty had told him that the boy was likely a lost cause in more ways than one.

True, they had said, he was exceptionally bright and had some of the highest marks they had ever seen. But, they always followed up with, to go hand in hand with every academic award he had, there were equally as many instances and write ups of confrontations and misunderstandings with his peers and adults alike.

They reminded him that his teachers and case worker always described him as street smarts wrapped up in book smarts, but never made mention of him being people smart. That’s all space travel was, at the heart of it all; being able to work as a team and get their job done. If the boy couldn’t even do something so basic in his day to day life, why bother?

Still, Shiro had gathered the file up, had taken it with him, and had visited Keith nonetheless.

And, though what had been said about the kid had been true, it was the simple, point blank answer to the last question Shiro asked him during that visit that made him give pause to believing that was all Keith was.

_“What made you apply to be part of the Galaxy Garrison in the first place?”_

Without a beat missed, Keith answered,

_“I just want to help people. I know I’m not great at it, but I have to try.”_

It was the honesty in his voice, the authentic desire so apparent on his face, that had Shiro vowing to help this kid excel however he could, right then and there.

Shiro squeezes his shoulder gently and smiles at him fondly.

“I know you would have done just fine, Keith. I’ll go check on Hunk and Lance though, ok? Try to eat some breakfast and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Keith nods and turns back to the dining room door. Shiro, in turn, makes his way further down the hallway, his gait quicking to a jog as soon as he thought he’d be out of Keith’s line of sight. He was proud of Keith for knowing when to get help for something that he felt ill equipped to deal with. If Keith thought what he overheard sounded serious, it likely was.

Shiro knew he wasn’t the best at difficult conversations.

But, he was all these kids had for a leader and he would be damned if he didn’t give it his all to rise to the occasion and do his best to help them.

\---------------------

Lance felt like shit.

Well, more accurately, he felt tired more than anything. But between the still lingering memories of his dream, his aching bloodshot eyes and the concentration it took to try to walk a thin line of keeping himself from crying again and trying not trying not to clam up on Hunk, yeah, feeling like shit would be a close summation.

**_/No one should have to shoulder something like this./_ **

The thought had rung out in his head time and time again as Hunk carefully probed and prodded him, trying to understand why he had found his friend crying so viciously. He was trying, god was he trying because he knew those space ladies were right, knew that this nonsense should not have gone on as long as it had in the first place.

Knowing and doing were two different things and Lance was bad at stifling his own fears.

Every time the words tried to fall from his mouth, every time he tried to give voice to the fact that he had been sad and angry and empty on and off since he was only twelve years old, his mind flickers to his grandma’s face and the words die as he suddenly feels like he’s been sucker punched.

“What do you mean you feel tired, Lance?” Hunk’s still there, his hand still resting against his shoulder, and the calm in his voice sounds forced.

Hunk was always there, with a joke, a smile, and a sincerity that he had seen in few others in his life. If there was anyone who he should be able to say these things to, it should be Hunk. Even if it was apparent he might be scaring him.

And yet, when he opens his mouth and tries to give shape to the feelings in his chest, he can’t.

He all but groans in frustration, forcing himself into a sitting position, his blanket now only wrapped around himself from the waist down as he lets his long legs fall over the side of his bed. He does this in one easy motion and, as if mirroring him, Hunk raises from where he had been kneeling and sits next to him, his hand moving from his shoulder to the center of his back.

“Why the fuck is _this_ so hard to even talk about?” He says, angrily running a hand through his hair, frowning at his lap as he does so.

“I wish I knew what _this_ was so I could help you figure it out. But, dude, it’s ok. Just take it slow and try your best.” Hunk says, his hand on Lance’s back resuming the little circular motions from before.

It was then that Shiro knocked on the doorframe, both the younger paladins jumping slightly in surprise at the slight noise.

“I thought I heard people talking in here. You guys ok?”  

While Lance couldn’t see Hunk’s expression, he could readily see his shoulders relax ever so slightly as Shiro entered the room.

Good to know they had been on the same page about being nervous.

He’s not sure where to look once Shiro’s come to crouch in front of them, his expression calm and shoulders tensed.

“Uh, hey Shiro. We were just talking about stuff, you know, the old this and that.” It’s Hunk who breaks the suddenly thick silence in the room, the hand sitting on Lance’s back finally making its way to its owners lap. He immediately misses the contact, the physical reassurance that someone was there with him, but he grits his teeth and bares the sudden feeling of loneliness.

“Is the _this_ or _that_ something you guys might need help with?”

The question was so simple, so carefully asked, open ended enough to let them know they could answer a different day, if they needed to.

**_/No one should have to shoulder something like this./_ **

It’s just as those words tumble across his thoughts once more, just as Hunk seems to be opening his mouth to answer Shiro, that Lance finds tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again.

Instead of letting them fall though, because he’d had just about enough of that nonsense for today thank you very much, he slapped his hands over his face, the motion making enough noise that Hunk jumped ever so slightly next to him.

Still, the shaking in his shoulders worsened and a sob began trying to build in his throat again. He swallowed it down, upset with himself, as he rested his elbows against this blanket covered knees, willing his body to just _cut this shit out_.

There must have been some sort of silent exchange of looks between Hunk and Shiro, because only a beat after his hands were to his face, he felt a hand on his upper back once more as he heard Shiro’s voice.

“Lance, just take a deep breath, ok?”

“I’m not crying. Really, I’m fine.” His voice, though tight, wasn’t watery.

“Lance, it’s ok if you do cry. Like, I cry all the time. Just try to tell us what’s going on man.” It was Hunk who said this, his hand making little circles against his back again.

Lance pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes at his friend’s words, breathing deeply for a moment. Ok, so if he kept freezing everytime he so much as thought about telling them about that dark _bullshit_ buried in his heart, he could try something else.

**_/No one should have to shoulder something like this./_ **

One thing at a time.

Tell them about the dreams.

Tell them about Melemant.

Start there.

Baby steps.

It would be ok.

“So,” he starts, his mouth suddenly dry as he moves his hands from his face, crossing them in front of his chest instead to stare at his lap,  “when Hunk and I went to Melemant about a month ago, I...I stumbled on a room there, like a shrine. And it wasn’t necessarily empt-”

“What, was that when you found that off-shot path and we lost contact for a bi-” Hunk asks before he can stop himself. He only cuts himself off once he realizes what he had just admitted to and all but freezes, sneaking a glance at Shiro’s reaction.

Lance chanced a look too, ready to step in and take the blame for the whole suggestion of splitting up in the first place if need be. When a beat passes and Shiro is still looking at him, waiting for him to answer Hunk’s question with a expectant look in his eyes, Lance continues.

“Yeah it, uh, it was Hunk. So, you know, I found this room and I’m doing my Lance thing in checking it out, trying to see if it was Galra in nature and all that. Then there was this voice that said my name and then there was, like, these two flashes of light that knocked my ass to the floor so, second I could get to my feet I was outta there. Then we came back here and I started having weird dreams and, I guess, here we are now.”

He has to take a deep breath when he’s said his share, rambling and fast but at least out in the open now.

A beat, a pause, and then Shiro speaks.

“So, let me just make sure I’ve got this right: you and Hunk went on this intel mission a month ago, you’ve started having weird dreams lately, and you think they might have something to do with that planet?”

Lance shakes his head, suddenly feeling very small as he pulls an answer from himself.

Baby steps, Lance, just a little bit at a time.

“No I...I’ve been having weird dreams since we got back. I don’t _think_ it has something to do with that planet, I _know_ it does.”

Another beat, another pause.

“Dude, Lance, why didn’t you say anything?” Hunk asks, his voice quiet.

He wants to clam up, wants to sink back into the comfort of his bed and just fall silent again. But, hey, he’d dug this hole deep enough, he may as well lay in it.

“They’re not bad dreams they’re just...they’re just kinda weird and make me wake up crying sometimes. I was doing fine on my own and I didn’t…”

He has to take a deep breath, swallowing down another surge for tears, before he can continue further.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone. Since it wasn’t unbearable or anything, I figured…” He finishes his thought lamely with a shrug, unsure if his voice will hold together if he goes any further.

It’s when Shiro rests a hand on his knee that Lance finally looks back up from his lap, locking eyes with his leader. He’s smiling gently when he says, in complete earnestness;

“Lance, there’s no way you can ever be a burden to us, especially not with something that’s been bothering you. No one should have to shoulder something like this, not alone, you know? We, all of us, are here to help you out.”

**_/No one should have to shoulder something like this/_ **

Lance’s heart skipped a beat as those familiar words fell from the eldest Paladin and he realizes that this is real, this isn’t some sort of dream. It’s just enough that the tears he’d been fighting against burst forth and suddenly he’s crying again, even though that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He’s crying again and Hunk’s moved his hand from his back to his far shoulder, pulling him into a sideways hug and Shiro’s hand is still on his knee squeezing gently and his teammates are anchoring him.

Pressing his face back into his hands, Lance lets himself be anchored and tries to wait out the storm.

\------------------

When Hunk comes to the dining room, nearly a half varga after Shiro had left, and tells Coran that the eldest paladin needed to see him in the medbay, that’s when Allura begins to realize that something might be amiss with her teammates on this particular morning.

True, the last few weeks had been bumpy and slightly discombobulated so to speak, what with training results being inconsistent and a certain disconnect that no one could quite put their finger on. Still, they’d had victories tied up in with the disjointedness of it all, so that had to count for something.

She had merely assumed her team was trying to sort through _things_ , said _things_ an undefined mystery to her, as usual. That’s what humans seemed best at doing; sorting through their differences and coming up with compromises that would work for everyone.

Perhaps, she thought later, she hadn’t been focused on the right things to notice the issues in the first place. With the way things were, her sights always had to be on the bigger picture, not just the parts that made up the whole.

Perhaps, she thinks, maybe she should have focused more on the parts, the _people_ that made up team Voltron.

She knows it to be the truth when Pidge, in all of her wonderful curiosity and need to understand the world around her, casually asks Hunk what’s going on as he takes over the flat cake making in Coran’s stead.

He doesn’t acknowledge the question, let alone answer it.

“Hunk, did you hear my question?” Pidge asks , her plate of food growing cold as she tinkers with yet another piece of hardware at the table.

The only sound he makes in response is a strained hum of acknowledgement.

Allura watches as Pidge’s face creases in annoyance.

She seems to consider her fellow paladin for a moment before, with the sort of speed Allura knows comes from split second decisions, she grabbed one of the flat cakes from her plate and has thrown is like a discus across the room, smacking Hunk squarely on the side of the head with it.

“Ow, Pdige, what the quiznak was that for?” Hunk was absolutely paying attention now, rubbing his head with a certain amount of confusion on his face.

“I asked if you knew what was going on and you kept ignoring me. So, I got your attention.”

Allura watches as his expression changes rapidly from confusion to pain to sadness as he opens and closes his mouth, trying and failing several times to start a thought.

“Hunk, are you quite alright?” she says, studying his face as she did so.

He sets his mouth into a thin line for only a moment, trying to keep his expression neutral, before his features crack and it’s like a flood at that point as Hunk tells them everything.

About how he’d been scared to go to the abandoned planet Melemant and how creepy it was and how Lance must have sensed that because that’s just how Lance is and how they had split up to cover more ground to leave quicker and how Lance had apparently come across something alien and now kept having weird dreams and he’d found him crying alone in his room for god knows how many hours and how Shiro wanted Coran to run tests on him now and how surely it was his fault for not arguing that they should stick together-

“Whoa, whoa, Hunk. Stop it. You said it was Lance’s idea, right?”

It was Keith’s voice, no nonsense and blunt, that cut through Hunk’s verbal vomit.

“W-well yeah, but I mean, I know I could have done somethi-”

“Hunk. Stop. It. Lance is about as stubborn as I am, do you think you could have changed his mind once he got an idea stuck in it?”

There was a sniffling noise from Hunk as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Allura stands at that point and goes to rest a hand on the inside of Hunk’s elbow, guiding him into the seat next to Pidge, carefully sitting herself on his opposite side.

Eventually, he answers Keith’s question, voice soft and watery.

“No, no I don’t think I could have changed his mind.”

Keith nodded once, with a certain amount of finality in the small gesture.

“Than don’t beat yourself up over it, Shiro and Coran will figure something out.”

There’s a beat of silence before Pidge speaks up.

“Where’s Lance now?” she asks, food and tech alike forgotten for the moment.

Hunk lets out a shaky sigh, his hands nervously twisting in themselves as he speaks.

“I think Shiro’s having Coran run some tests on him now. You know, see if they can find what’s making his dreams so-” he makes a exaggerated wave like motion with his hands “-funky.”

Allura feels something tug at her heart and tries her best to push it aside. It was so easy to forget sometimes that her paladins were still children in their own ways. She returns her hand to Hunk’s forearm, hoping that the gesture was taken as comforting. Acceptable levels of touch for humans was still a mystery to her at times, though she knew she was learning quickly.

“Coran will know how to help, everything will be ok Hunk.”

\---------------------

Things were not ok. Not really.

Coran frowned at the scanner’s read out, twirling his mustache around a finger as he went.

 **Temperature:** Average

 **Blood pressure:** Average

 **Reflexes:** Average

 **General Homeostasis:** Average

The only thing the scans had to show that something was out of the normal, even in the slightest, was Lance’s brain activity. Even still, that had showed only a .05% difference, well within the parameters he had deemed were acceptable his human charges.

Even if the numbers weren’t exactly what he had been expecting, Coran was not going to give up until he found a way to fix this.

He had known something had been off, even before Lance had come to him asking for some help falling asleep. But he had been passive, had waited to see if Shiro had any luck discerning where the disconnect might be coming from.

When Hunk had quietly told him Lance and Shiro needed him in the medbay, he all but mentally slapped himself in frustration.

Of course it had been Lance; between the boy’s slightly more withdrawn behavior and the seemingly sudden request for a sleeping aide, Coran was kicking himself for not seeing that something was truly off sooner.

Lance, in many ways, was the glue that kept the team functional.

He’d seen time and time again how he carefully negotiated with Pidge to leave her projects be for the night so she could get some sleep. Had witnessed him remind Hunk to breathe during particularly intense training modules. Had overheard him tell Shiro how he’d already done a sweep of a particular part of the ship so Shiro could relax and try to rest. Even with Keith, whom he often bickered with incessantly, Coran had seen Lance make sure he wasn’t pushing himself to exhaustion, forcing an extra pouch of water on or a ration bar when he hadn’t eaten much for breakfast if need be.

Lance was, undoubtedly, the team’s advocate for creature comforts; if there was anything Coran had learned about humans, it was that they were absolutely creatures that needed comfort.

He sighed as he pulled the holopad off of its stand, moving to stand next to where Lance sat on an examination table.

“Tell me the good news Doc, am I cured?” Lance said with a small smile, his voice ragged and the expression on his face more exhausted than Coran had ever seen before.

Even in this state, tired and scared and who knows what else, Lance was still trying to joke with him, to alleviate some of the heaviness he and Shiro had come to him with.

“Well, cured wouldn’t be the word I would use unfortunately. See, problem is I can’t seem to find anything that might be wrong. All your vitals are normal, the scan we did of your head specifically is still within normal parameters...I’m afraid to say I’m a little stumped.”

He twirled his mustache around his finger again as he spoke, hating to admit that he had hit a wall so quickly.

“Well, and correct me if I’m wrong Lance, it really only sees to be an issue when he’s asleep.” Shiro spoke at this point, arms crossed in front of him and his foot tapping quietly against the floor.

“No, that sounds about right.” Lance answered, having started swining his long legs back and forth.

“Well, if you’re up for it my boy, we could run a scan on you while you sleep.”

He watches as a small smile flickers to Lance’s face as he answers,

“Knock me out Doc, let’s see what’s going on in that ol’ brain of mine.”

\---------------------------

Once asleep, Lance immediately finds himself on a night covered sky beach, the waves slower, calmer, softer now, and three women made of just outlines and colors are waiting there for him.

**_We are so proud of you, Lance, for being honest with your friends. We know how hard that was for you, to admit the need for help in any capacity._ **

He knew they were not lying; the waves of pride and contentment and happiness for him crashing around him were proof enough of their sincerity.

_T-thanks._

His ears are burning red and his eyes feel wet but, still, he finds himself smiling.

There’s a long moment where he just allows himself the comfort of feeling their pride in him, any incessant dark thought that would normally sneak its way into his heart when given words of praise was batted out. There was no room misinterpretation here.

He’s not sure how long they sit there, enjoying each others company. Eventually, though, he breaks the silence with a question.

_Can I ask you guys something?_

Inquisitive openness washes over him and the three before him smile without mouths.

 _I know you said who you guys are, kinda, but like...how are you here? How is this, any of this,_ he gestured to the soft sand and a twinkling night sky, _even possible? Like, I get it, you were somehow in that room on Melemant. So what, you decided to ditch that scene and hang out with me in my dreams? What gives?_

They turn to each other, pausing as they do, nodding after a moment.

**_We can show you, dear Lance._ **

It was than that Lance learned that emotions...emotions aren’t ever just in the here and now. They’re sowed deeply into memories; found in the smells of a home cooked meal, in the beat of a song that sticks with you years after you've forgotten the words.

It’s with this realization made that the three ladies show him their lives in waves, their emotions connected to memories, their memories woven together from sights and sounds and smells of a life well lived.

They start with their love for each other and their planet, showing him how their people were one with the very quintessence that made up Melemant’s heart, at all times.

They told him about rolling hills through the smell of morning dew and about a sun that warmed their skin when its rays touched them with kindness. They spoke without words about walks in muggy forests filled with sounds of life and the smell of moss.

They show him their awe in where they lived, how their planet, alive and resplendent, gave them each the gift of knowing what others felt, gave them each the gift of Intimate Empathy.

They showed him how conversations with each other had always been an exercise in self love, to see themselves from someone else's perspective and know how beautiful they could be. They show him how having a conversation with someone else was to have a conversation with yourself.

They show him how they had been taught that everything was made from the same basic ingredients; the same dust, the same energy, the same pull to find compassion and love in other living things.

They show him how, as their people’s physical forms withered and then turned to stone, how they took their knowledge and left the planet, left to go find those who needed help, needed light, needed love. They showed him how their planet had rejoiced, happy to know others might learn from those she loved so dearly. One by one, they all left, save for three.

They showed him how the planet Melemant existed with her three priestesses, happy, content, and alive in mind and soul.

They showed him how, on a day thousands of years ago, a Galra cruiser came and they knew what fear was for the first time. They show him how it came with nothing but the need to conquer driving them and, without knowing what they were doing, with deaf hearts and minds to the pain they were causing, ripped the life from the planet.

They showed him how the temple, the same temple he had come across only a few short weeks ago, was the only thing that they had been able to save. They showed him this and then he could feel something shutting him out, closing the waves off from him.

Lance sat in the still sun-warmed sand of a dream built beach, his heart heavy with grief that was not his own. The three before him shook as if near tears and Lance suddenly understands that they are trying to spare him the pain of this part in their story.

_Hey, no, wait. Come on, you guys can’t be hypocrites after all this. What did you tell me before? No one should have to bare pain like that alone?_

He stands for the first time in one of these dreams as he says this, approaching the three silhouettes to crouch in front of them, holding a hand out to them, palm facing upwards.

They paused and considered his outstretched hand, leaning heavily against each other, shoulder to shoulder, trying to support themselves as they spoke.

**_This is an old pain, Lance. This is an old pain that refuses to be healed; there would be no need for you to feel it, to see it for yourself, for there is nothing to do for it._ **

Lance shakes his head, hand still outstretched.

_Look, you three have been my personal cheerleaders for, like, a month now. You hung out in rock bodies for like ten-thousand something years and came out just to help little old me with my troubles. Least I can do is listen to your full story, right?_

They hesitated, barely contained pain rolling from them as they still carefully considered his outstretched hand. Then, it seemed, a decision had been made and the three priestesses are reaching their hands back out to him, touching their fingers to his palm in unison.

Lance knew he wouldn’t be able to hide any of his own pain, his own confusion, his own regrets from them, so he didn’t. And, in turn, they poured into him what they had been unable to share outside themselves for nearly ten-thousand years.

He feels millenia worth of anger, of despair, of apathy and a terrible, crushing darkness crash into him like a tsunami. But he stood firm, pushed against the tide, and just let himself feel it all.

Feel the screaming and groaning of a planet dying around them.

Feel the tears run down their faces and into the pool that held the very last drop of quintessence they had managed to save from their planet’s heart.

Feel the endless years stretch out in front of them as they huddled their minds together, trying not to succumb to the terrible void this Galra injustice had thrown them into.

He felt them acknowledge those travelers who came to their planet, came searching for something that was no longer there. Time and time and time again, ships came and ships left and they kept their temple hidden.

It was only when they can feel Blue approaching, a ship made to know someone’s heart, do they know now would be the time to act, to leave their planet behind

And as soon as it had started, it was done and they drew their hands from his own, apologetic waves crashing into him, tears dripping down faces that were just only there.

He feels breathless, hollow, and burnt out with his mind swimming in memories not his own.

 _Why me?_ He eventually asks.

When they do not answer him, he continues.

_There were...there were so many before me that came looking for something like you. Came searching for you specifically. I didn’t even know you were there. So why come to me? Why choose to help me?_

The three priestesses, tears only just slowing down, replace their waves of apologetic sorrow with something akin to love.

 **_Our people know...knew the importance of knowing oneself and knowing those around them, Lance. We were given the gift of Intimate Empathy and you were not. Yet, without having such a gift to just_ ** **_know_ ** **_the emotions of someone, you have tried time and time and time again to know yourself, to know those around you. Even when you were pushed away or hurt from it. Without knowing what we might bring to you, you opened yourself up to us and asked to see our pain, to know our suffering. You took our advice, listened to our wisdom. We know you will continue to grow, continue to learn about yourself, and will others the pleasure of knowing you. This is why we came with you, why we knew, the moment you stepped foot on Melemant, that we were meant to give you this same gift, knew why we must pass it on to you._ **

There’s a beat as Lance tries to process what they are telling him, but his mind is scattered as he begins to feel the sand slip away from underneath him. Something was happening.

_What do you mean-_

But things had begun to fade, he realizes, as the priestesses waves of comfort and love crash into him more roughly, with less care, something in them now digging into him or digging out of him, he wasn’t sure anymore.

**_You are the heart of Voltron, Lance. Even in pain, you seek out others who need comfort. Even when scared, you still push to protect those around you. Even with all you have endured, you have only ever wanted to help others. This gift of ours has gone unused for millennia. The quintessence that has kept us here, kept us alive in mind and soul, has all but faded. Please, accept our gift. Please, use it. Please...please do not let Melemant be forgott-_ **

When Lance awoke suddenly, still in the infirmary, with Coran and Shiro no where in sight, he finds himself confused and drained in a way he has never been before. His entire body shaking, as if freezing, though he can feel a drop of sweat roll down his forehead and into the fabric of his shirt.

After about thirty seconds, he sat up, slowly, from the bed, head throbbing to the beat of his heart, his mind swimming with his dream, his hand instinctively moving to push through his hair. It’s caught quickly in a tangle of wires and probs and, for a moment, he has to think about what he was doing before he slept.

Right, the brain scans Coran wanted to do, he must have put them on once he fell asleep-

“Lance!”

The sound of his name was his only warning as Hunk suddenly had him wrapped up in a bear hug, the wind knocked out of him completely.

As soon as Hunk grabbed him, Lance froze as the most familiar sensation of a wave crashing into him became apparent. The priestesses had been calm and so consistent with each emotion they felt and would send his way. But this, oh, this was something entirely different than what he had felt in his dreams.

If the priestesses had been an ocean of calm, consistent waves in a twinkling starry night, Hunk was a foggy lake in the middle of a terrible storm.

_Relief relief happy so so so happy anxious anxious scared relief relief thank you for waking up scared out of my mind thank you for waking up thank you for-_

Lance had to pull himself from the hug, hands shaking hard as he did so, confusion and hurt clearly written all over Hunk’s face as he did so.

“H-hang on Hunk, sorry, it’s just you, uh, have a lot of, um-”

God, how did you even start explaining this? How to give words to what it felt like to intimately feel the run of emotions his friend was experiencing with just a hug? How to describe what it was like to still feel that nervous energy roll off of him like some sort of fog?

Seeing Hunk’s confused expression, he knew he had to at least try.

“Just give me a second and l-lemme try to figure out how to explain this bud, I j-just had one hell of a nap.”

His friend’s confusion was replaced with concern and fear as he said,

“Lance, buddy, you didn’t take a _nap_. You’ve been out for like, three days straight.”

There was a long beat of silence where Lance became acutely aware of how badly his legs were shaking, before he quietly asked,

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys thought!


	4. How to Ask For Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Team Voltron remebers it's ok to ask for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: explicit depictions of self-harm, if this is something that can trigger you PLEASE be careful reading.
> 
> Art for this chapter commissioned from the lovely jiiaxxi, found on Tumblr: https://jiiaixx.tumblr.com/
> 
> The Apa are a lovely Original Alien Species crafted by Catelyn Jones and her delightful work "The Improtance of Understanding" ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612269 ). She can also be found on Tumblr: https://catelynjoneswrites.tumblr.com/

Shiro grunted in frustration as yet another gladiator bot managed to block one of his attacks, blinking the sweat out of his eyes as he readied another strike.

He’d been training for the better part of two hours, willing himself to get lost in the flow that came with a battle; the adrenaline, the heavy breathing, the quick beat of his heart.

But the tunnel vision that normally came with a fight - _ push just push keep pushing keep winning keep breathing keep living-  _ had evaded him the entire time. 

This wasn’t working the way it normally did.

“End training simulation!” he barked out, his frustration and worry catching up to him as he came to that silent realization.

He pulled his helmet from his head as the gladiators disappeared, running a hand through his sweat slick bangs, taking a few deep breaths as he did so.

Lance hadn’t woken up in almost three days and, as of yet, had shown no signs of doing so anytime soon.

His suggestion, that monitoring Lance while he slept, had given them the data they had been looking for, or so Coran had told him. A huge spike in abnormal brain activity the moment Lance entered REM sleep, so much so that Coran had rushed off to pull two other machines from the storage bay two floors beneath them. It had been...unsettling, in a way, to see Lance hooked up to so many different machines, wires protruding every which way from his head.

If he was being honest, he only had a very basic idea of what those readouts and charts Coran had excitedly shown him were suppose to mean.

Though, if he had known it would result in something like this, with his team down one member, possibly indefinitely, he would have just kept his mouth shut.

Coran had said the sleep serum was only supposed to keep him under for a max of three hours, but that he would likely be up and about sooner than that.

When his brain activity had not changed after the three and a half hour mark, that was when Coran had started introducing a light blue liquid to the IV they’d set into the crook of Lance’s right arm.

_ “It should counteract what we gave him earlier and have him up before long.” _

When it hit the four hour mark and Lance still did not stir, when the machine’s hooked up to him showed no sign of change, that was when Shiro had begun to truly feel worried.

It was another hour and nearly a dozen different things attempted and tests run, before Coran quietly admitted that he didn’t know what was going on.

As a last ditch attempt, they removed the wires and carefully placed him into a cryopod.

The machine took only ten minutes to tell them what they had hoped, to a degree, wasn’t the case: Lance was physically just fine, he was just deeply,  _ deeply _ asleep.

The panic that had tried to bubble in his chest had to be pushed back down as they had removed him from the pod and rested him back on the examination table. He had to think, had to be clear minded before he made the next move, the next choice, god what was he going to do, what were they going to do, how was he supposed to tell the rest of the tea-

“Shiro, breathe. Count backwards from ten.”

It had only been when Coran had spoken, touching his shoulder gently, that Shiro realized how ragged his breathing had become. He’d only nodded, closed his eyes and started to count, breathing into the numbers.

There had been a silent agreement between them, made somewhere between the first time Coran bumped into him when he was doing his early morning check around the castle and the first time he offered Shiro the leaves to make a tea to help with restlessness. That had been weeks ago now, but that silent understanding still stood and, for the most part, it worked. 

Shiro could not ask for help. He was the leader of this team; this ragtag, child-soldier driven team, and he  _ had _ to be the backbone. He  _ had _ to be ok. 

Even if he slept restlessly, with memories of darkened rooms and blood covered dirt still forgotten enough to be an annoying itch in his mind instead of something devastating. 

He knew there were things in the year he’d been in Galra captivity that were better left alone. So, when habits of intense vigilance, of having to make sure he and his team were safe time and time and time again surfaced, he didn’t want to know where he had learned them from.

He’d stuck to his self imposed schedule, would try to convince himself every night that things would be ok, and would do the same thing over the next day and knew he could not ask for help. If Coran  _ offered  _ help though, could see that he might benefit from an herbal tea or a breathing exercise or just a kind word? 

Well, Shiro wasn’t about to turn down advice from their local medical practitioner.  

They’d had broken the news to the others shortly after Shiro’s breathing had returned to normal and a painful tension had settled over the entire castle thereafter.

This was the first time he’d been out of the medbay since then. At the behest of Hunk of all people. Generous, thoughtful Hunk, who had been kind enough to tell him he looked awful and, please Shiro, go take a nap.

And Shiro had tried, he really had. He’d showered and grabbed a ration bar and had tried to rest. The last few nights had been spent uselessly pacing the medbay room, listening to the machines Lance had been hooked up to beep methodically, without change, with sleep coming in short bursts of half hour increments; there was no reason he shouldn’t be falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Even still, he found himself restless, antsy, a nervous energy burning through his veins.

That was how he found himself here, in the training bay of all places, all but fumbling around to try and find an outlet for this energy.

Shiro closed his eyes and forced his body to relax as much as it could.

Patience yields focus.  _ Breathe in. _

Patience yields focus.  _ Breathe out. _

Ten. _ Breathe in. _

Nine.  _ Breathe out. _

Eight.  _ Breathe i- _

The sound of an alarm blaring cut through his thoughts, startling him back to himself and setting his nerves further on edge. 

It took him only a second, perhaps even less than that, to realize that this wasn’t an alarm telling them they were under attack. It was the alarm for the medbay, telling everyone on board that something was going very wrong with whoever was in there.

\--------------------

Hunk had never seen Lance like this before. 

Shaking like a leaf caught in a harsh breeze, from head to toe, and his eyes are full of fear. It’s not that he’s never seen his friend afraid before, especially not with the lifestyle they were currently living. He’s just never seen Lance’s fear directed at him before and it’s...confusing, to say the least.

And the way he questioned Hunk, the single “What?” laced with emotions he couldn’t put his finger on, oh, that had hurt so badly to hear.

“Yeah you- Coran and Shiro said they put you under to run some tests. Then you just...you wouldn’t like, wake back up- are you ok man? Cause, you’re looking at me like I’m something out of a horror movie and I’m not sure how to take that.” He says this quietly, every instinct in his body telling him to hug Lance, to offer a comforting hand, something!

But Lance had already pulled back, had already told Hunk to wait, so he pushed down those instincts and waited for his friend to answer.

Lance’s expression shifts and the fear is gone, smoothed away and leaving only the barest hint that it had been there to begin with. Like a receipt kept in your wallet that’s taken out and flatten, creased and crinkling under your hands.

“Yeah, n-no I’m fine, just, uh, a little out of it I guess.” 

There’s hesitation and something else in his voice that, again, Hunk can’t quite place. He ignores it, pushes it ot the back of his mind, when Lance silently offers him a hand, all the more indication he needed to know that  _ Ok, so hugs were fine again. _

He smiled as he took Lance up on his quiet offer, pulling the smaller boy into his arms and into a slightly less bone crushing hug; his friend had only just woken up, he had all the time in the world to badger him about how he was feeling, now was hug time.

Hunk doesn’t have to wait for long to realize why Lance had initially pulled away.

It started as a small tug, like a cold finger had hooked around the back of his neck, something so minor Hunk almost didn't notice it. His own fears and anxieties had been simmering in his chest for the last three days, leaving him slightly nauseous at all times, but it hadn’t been unbearable. He was always nervous about something or other.

It was when something definitely not him begins to eek into his chest /g _ uilt over worrying everyone, guilt over not being honest, guilt over  _ **_everything_ ** _ /  _ that has Hunk’s anxiety shooting skyward at an astronomical rate.

From there, it immediately becomes a vortex that Hunk cannot tear himself from, cannot bear to turn away from.

His anxiety, normally something he could confront with a certain amount of success, was being pushed back at him, tinged with guilt that wasn’t his own and than it would leave and come back and leave and come back and leave and come back and would be different and the same every time. Sometimes more him, sometimes more Lance, sometimes equal parts. It felt like both he and his friend were soon to burst from the speed of it all, from being caught up in a whiplash of feeling confusion that was his and wasn’t his and fear and anger and worry and pain between them blending blending blending together-

There’s a loud noise that cuts through some of the rushing in Hunk’s ears and the erratic beat of his heart and he dimly realizes that someone has hit the medical emergency alarm. He offhandedly wonders who it was.

It feels like forever that he stands there, holding Lance in that hug, his chest and heart and mind caught up in the strange rapidfire give and take they found themselves caught up in. It hurts. It hurts so much, knowing that some of the things he was feeling belonged to his very best friend and he hadn’t known until right then-

He doesn’t realize how tightly he and Lance had been holding each other until Shiro’s prying them apart, his Galra hand straining against Hunk’s vice like grip on Lance’s sides.

The moment he’s aware of it, aware of how his hands are aching and screaming in pain from the strain, is the moment he pulls back, just a little, and suddenly he’s on the ground, eyes looking up at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with white noise and his head in a sluggish fog.

He distantly hears Shiro asking him if he’s ok, waving his hand in front of his face to try and get his attention. But he doesn’t have the words for this, doesn't have the vocabulary to describe what he was right then and there.

Like a raw nerve shocked too many times, maybe. But that still doesn’t seem right.

He’s vaguely aware of how exhausted he feels as he thinks about the day they had learned about feedback loops in school. He thinks about how they were shown how old fashioned walkie talkies, when placed too close together and a noise introduced to them, eventually created a sound between them that was indistinguishable, loud, otherworldly, and horrifying.

Shiro helps him to his feet as Hunk thinks about feedback loops and wonders when Lance had learned how to turn people into walkie talkies.

___________________________

Pidge, for all her faults, knew how to step up to difficult situations. 

She’d been the only one who had managed to get her mom up and out of bed after the news of Matt and her Dad’s disappearances / _ not deaths because Holts don't die like that/ _ . She had been the one to know when to leave her mother be and when to come talk some sense into her. Even her Aunt Tilly, who Pidge’s mother loved and trusted dearly, had told her how impressed she was with her niece.

‘ _ I’ve been trying all week to get her out of the house and you managed to convince her in a few minutes!’ _

She’d only shrugged, her mouth set in a thin line.

Pidge had the drive to dig deeper, deeper than anyone else dared, to see what it was that the Galaxy Garrison was covering up about the Kerberos mission. She’d picked herself up over and over and over again, every time she found herself kicked out, ignored, snubbed, or met with a dead end.

She’d had the gumption to tell her mother her plan, to tell it to her with such confidence of success, that there was nothing else to be said on the matter.

The only time Pidge had taken pause was when the scissors, suddenly heavy and real in her hand, cut through her long hair. She had grit and bore the realness of her decision and put Matt’s glasses on her face with steady hands, her disguise complete.

Pidge knew how to step up to hard situations, knew how to dig deep, knew how to  _ get shit done _ .

So, when it became apparent that no one on the ship knew how to approach Lance, this new Lance with panic and confusion pouring off of him like a broken fog machine, of course she quietly began to dig deep and figure out what to do. Lance shouldn’t be left in pain like that; no one should. 

Just like with her search for her family members, her search for adequate help for her teammate / _ friend Pidge, he’s also your friend/  _  took on the sort of heated single mindedness. 

When they had managed to calm Hunk, when Lance had stormed off to his room, when Coran and Shiro and Allura had a chance to talk amongst themselves, they had finally been granted an audience and given some semblance of a briefing of what was going on.

Shiro told them, in so many words, that something on Melemant, a planet  _ none _ of them had been near for nearly a month, had changed her friend. That something had infiltrated his dreams, had shifted something in him ever so slightly, and left him with some sort of empathic ability he couldn’t control. Coran had chimed in, referencing several alien species that had similar abilities, saying that it wasn't something unheard of in the known universe. That, though empaths weren’t unheard of, he had never seen someone just...wake up with such abilities.

“What does that mean for Lance?” She asked, her eyebrow cocked and ready to challenge the authorities that be, even if those authorities were also her pseudo-family.

She did not miss the way the three elders of the group had looked to one another, pausing for a moment too long.

“You guys don’t know, do you?” It was Keith that said this, the expression on his face mirroring her own. 

Shiro had sighed, his expression tinged with something too close to fear for her liking.

“No, we don’t.”

She’d left at that point, hand clenched into fists and her expression stoney, answering Allura’s call of “Pidge, where are you going?” with a short, but succinct:

“To figure this crap out!”

If the authorities that be didn’t know what to do then, dammit, she’d just have to find someone who could help Lance with this nonsense. 

So, she searched.

Combing through page after page of the encyclopedia like database the ship had to offer, cross referencing the out-of-date information with Galra intel she had hacked over the course of several missions. She spent hours, pouring herself into this, looking for something, anything, that could be useful.

She only pauses when there’s a knock on her door and Keith, of all people, is swiftly entering her room.

“You know, it’s usually polite to wait until someone says you can come in.” She says, her words with a bite to them that normally isn’t there. She wonders for a moment why that is and then her stomach growls, embarrassingly loud. 

Ok, so, she was hungry, maybe that had something to do with it.

“Yeah, well, most people don’t coop themselves up in their room for nearly a day and a half, so, let’s call us even.” Keith says this easily, coming to stand next to where she had hunkered down on her bed, blankets and pillows piled around her like a soft fort.

Pidge looked down at the clock on her laptop, rubbing her eyes as if only just realizing how much they burned with the need for sleep. True to what Keith said, it  _ had _ been nearly thirty-six hours since she had stormed off from the rest of her team.

“Ok, yeah, that’s fair.” She says this, running a hand through her hair, quietly grimacing at the tangles her fingers caught on.

There’s a pause, a beat, and than Keith moves.

“Here, figured you’d be hungry.” Pidge finds a water pouch and a ration bar suddenly in her face.

She takes the offered food and drink without preamble, muttering a soft “Thanks” as she did so. The ration bar is nearly gone in a few bites and the water pouch drained in a few deep sips. She smacks her lips together as she sighs, contentedly.

“So,” Keith starts, the fact that he’s carefully moving his weight from foot to foot not missed, “have you, uh, found anything?”

Pidge turns her head slightly to look at him, eyebrows raising as she did. 

“Like,” Keith shifts his weight again, “you know, to help Lance, or, ugh what was it you said when you left?”

“Figure this crap out.” She quotes evenly, motioning for Keith the take a seat next to her.

He pauses, shifts his feet again, and then moves to the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his added weight. It takes only a few keystrokes for her to pull the compiled data up and is soon tilting the laptop screen for Keith to get a better look at.

“Ok, so, like with most alien junk, Coran was pretty spot on. At one point, there were at least a few dozen races in the known universe with empathic skills.” 

The chart she’d pulled up shows as much, each cell going into detail about the races locations, attributes, and empathic specifics. Her favorite, so far, were the people of Telenuve, whose ability to know exactly what food a person was in the mood for made them some of the best chefs in their galaxy and beyond.

“I feel that there’s a missing ‘but’ here somewhere.” 

Pidge nodded, another keystroke pulling up a new chart. There were considerably fewer cells, fewer races, and even fewer that were marked as free from Galra control. She had silently rejoiced when Telenuve showed up as one of those few, mentally notating to show the information to Hunk later, wondering if it might cheer him up.

“It looks like, unfortunately, Galra don’t really seem to have much use for races that are good at knowing what others feel.” She said this as she scrolled down the chart, her finger tapping lightly against the screen each time the words  **Extinct** or  **Unknown** showed up in the  _ Location _ field.

Keith let out a sigh and Pidge did not miss the way his eyebrow twitched; she knew well enough about Keith’s unique body language to understand that he wasn’t irritated. He was worried. 

“But, luckily for us,” she started again, a few more keystrokes reorganizing the chart, “there is one that I  _ think _ we should be able to go to for help.”

The planet was called Rhexa IV, home to a race of relatively small, color changing humanoids that looked more plant-like than anything Pidge had seen before. 

“They seem to be the most similar in ability to what Lance has been saddled with and, as our luck would have it, they were recently liberated by a rebel team in conjunction with the Voltron Coalition. Though, honestly, the projecting emotions thing he seems to not have control over isn’t something I was able to really find in like, any of these. So there’s that.” She said this as she enlarged the cell titled  _ Empathic Specifics _ , giving Keith a chance to read through it.

The Apa, as they were known, had abilities that were skin to skin contact based, though it was notated that they had the innate ability to detect the general intentions of those around them. They were community driven, most of these races were as Pidge had come to find, and valued the connections with their families above all else.

“Ok, so, what do we do with this then?” Keith said this, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as he tilted his head to the screen.

Pidge rubbed at her eyes again, the hot itchiness that came with sleep deprivation getting harder to ignore.

“That’s where I’m still...kinda stumped. Like, I know I should go to Shiro with this, but I can just  _ hear  _ him now,” she straightened her back in an exaggerated manner and deepened her voice, right pointer finger pointed to the ceiling as she wagged it in a  _ don’t even think about it _ sort of manner, “patience yields focus Pidge, we just need to put our heads together and figure this out as a team!”

Keith snorted and Pidge caught the tail end of a grin on his face.

There’s a pause as she settles back into her normal posture and pivotes the laptop back to just face her, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“Let me talk with him about it.” Keith says this so quietly Pidge almost misses it.

“What?” She asks, just to make sure she didn’t mishear him.

Keith turns his head to face her, straightening his back as he repeats himself.

“I said let me talk with him about it. Like...ok so your imitation was spot on and you’re probably right that he’ll want to keep this situation within our team only. But, we’re in over our heads.  _ He’s _ in over his head. Lance needs help with this and no one here knows how to do that. Shiro...he can get so caught up in trying to maintain appearances sometimes that he forgets that it’s ok to look for advice elsewhere. I think some part of him is still caught up in being the Garrison's Golden Boy, even all the way out here. So, let me talk with him about this.”

Pidge lets her hands rest in her lap, her attention completely on Keith at this point. For as clueless as he was when it came to people, when he got something right, boy did he not half ass it.

“Ok, then, let me forward this to Shiro.” she says, her attention dropping back down to her laptop, a few more keystrokes and her charts were forwarded to bridge’s main computer, a small note of “Keith’s gonna come chat with ya’ll” accompanying it.

She shuts her laptop closed before a message can be sent back.

Keith’s already standing from her bed and part way to the door when she finally let’s what she wants to say out.

“Keith,” he turns back to her, his eyebrows furrowed into their normal scowl, “thanks for checking in on me man.”

His mouth sets into a thin line and he nods, closing the door behind him as he leaves.

Pidge lets out a sigh that quickly becomes a yawn, stifling it with the back of her hand. As tired as she was, as much as her eyes burnt and her shoulders ached from hunching over her laptop for hours, she still had something she needed to do.

\-----------------

Lance focused on trying to visualize a brick wall. Focused on trying to build it up, to fix it, to keep his emotions contained and not out in the open for his teammates to feel and judg-

_ Ok, nope, none of that, just focus Lance. Be a brick wall, just, build it up, brick by brick, keep it steady, breathe, don’t think too much, don’t feel too much. Just focus. _

The last day or so had been...rough.

He had figured he could handle a hug; that he could deal with his best friend’s confusion and anxiety long enough to be comforted. But, oh, that had been such a dumb idea, Lance realizes, in hindsight.

He thinks about feedback loops for just a second when Coran and Shiro are finally able to pull them apart.

He tries to find the words he needs to apologize immediately, to tell Hunk that he didn’t know what he was doing, to assure him that he’d had no idea that was going to happen. But his mind is so fogged up that he hardly has the means to keep himself sitting upright on the bed. Absentmindedly, his hands find their way to his hair again, the damn wires in the way once more. Before he can make himself to pause and think about his decision, he’s pulling the nodes and receptors from where they were stuck to his scalp and he’s on his feet and out the door of the medbay, his walking unsteady.

He does not miss the fact that Coran is keeping his distance as he follows after him, his voice twinged in worry and concern rolling off him like smoke as he asks him again and again, “Lance please, where are you going?”

He knows he says something, something that has the Altean stop in his tracks and he dimly wonders if he’s told him to back off.

His feet find their way back back to his room, back to his bed, back to rest.

But rest does not find him easily. Not when his own emotions pour out of him like he’s suddenly been cracked open. Not when he realizes that he can pinpoint where everyone is in the castle, that fact alone making panic rise up in his throat. He’s quick to clamp down on it, to begin visualizing building a brick wall and it helps somewhat.

He pulls his blankets around him tighter, trying to will himself to just calm down. But it’s hard.

Especially when he could literally feel the tension from the lounge room the rest of the team had gathered in, two floors up. Especially when he could almost pinpoint the moment when Shiro, because it was always Shiro to break bad news, must have told them about Melemant, must have told them how Lance had been changed. The tense confusion had shifted to something more heated, more primal almost. There was overwhelming concern and annoyance and anger and so many other nuanced emotions that he couldn’t put words to from this far away. 

He’d put the pillow over his head and imagined building a brick wall.

That had worked, kinda. If he focused inward, put all of his thoughts to an image, a action of containment, it seemed to...lessen, some of the feedback he was getting from the others in the castle and lessened his own feedback in return.

Even though he’d slept for three days straight, he is absolutely exhausted and does eventually find himself asleep once more.

He dreams about home. About Earth and his family. 

He’s six years old and his mother is working herself to the bone, but he and his little brother Marco are relatively happy, even if they’re confused about why their dad hasn’t been home in a long while. They’re watching a recorded episode that they’ve seen too many times at their grandma’s small apartment, Lance’s head resting on top of Marco’s as the three year old zoned out to the lull of the TV. Lance is warm and comfortable and is looking forward to lunch.

The dream shifts and he’s suddenly fourteen, lying in his bed, bones heavy as led and a familiar numbness having seeped into him over the course of the week. 

He was used to it now, the unquenchable sadness that stayed in him for months at a time. He had an idea of what this was called, but he dare not give his suspicion words. 

He thinks of his grandma as he drags himself from bed.

He notes, with some sort of dark satisfaction, that the marks on his hips from his shower last night sting painfully. His thoughts drift to the calmness that had overcome him as his boxcutter digs into the flesh of his ankles and hips and shoulders and arms. It’s the middle of winter, so his entire body is available to him for this. Not like in the summer, he keeps it purposely sequestered to just his hips and upper thighs and ankles and feet, places not easily seen-

He wakes to a pounding in his head and a tray of steaming food on his bedside table. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, but there’s a fear that grips his heart for a second as he remembers the images in his dreams, cold panic seeping into his bones at the thought that someone in the castle might understand what that numb sadness could mean. Scared that once they understood how _messed_ _up_ he was before he had even met Hunk, that they might just make him leave-

He cuts himself off with a deep breath, forcing the air out of his lungs slowly. He can feel a certain amount of confusion from Hunk out in the hallway, no doubt on his way back to the kitchen from dropping the food off. He was way too good of a friend.

_ Focus on building a wall, brick by brick. Rinse, repeat, survive and keep moving. _

Lance feels Hunk’s confusion and concern, no doubt having felt at least some of Lance’s panic being squashed back down, and he silently wishes his friend were just a little more selfish and thought more about his own welfare just a little bit more. 

Hunk paces the hallway, once, twice, the sound of his heavy footfalls just outside his door with each pass. Eventually, though Lance can tell it pains Hunk to do so, he passes Lance’s room a third time and leaves. 

Lance eats all of his food, even though he’s not hungry, and leaves his tray just outside his door.

He doesn’t sleep that night, relishing in the quietness that his friends’ dreams gave their emotions. Well, save for two, it felt like. 

He knew Shiro had trouble sleeping, knew he was an anxious sort of dude that only felt comfortable enough to try and sleep after multiple security checks had been completed to his satisfaction. 

He’d had no way of knowing before just how tightly wound Shiro was, how antsy his emotions were, how quick to flip flop back and forth from near panic to complete calm he could be. It’s nearly two in the morning when Shiro finally falls asleep and Lance wonders if every night is like this for him.

Then there’s Pidge. Pidge, whose drive to find something, emotions antsy in a different way than Shiro’s and the burning desire to get shit done, keeps her awake. Lance quietly contemplates the idea that ‘get shit done’ could be an emotion.

He knows it’s early morning when he falls asleep again.

He dreams that he’s running. Not from anything or to anywhere in particular, just running. There was something joyous in that, simply running to run, to lose yourself in the easy to keep  _ 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4 _ beat of shoes hitting pavement and pumping blood and sweat dripping down your back.

He dreams that he is fifteen and trying out for track for the first time and, dammit, he was actually really  _ good _ . He’s praised for his long distance times, the coach for the team asking him why he’s never tried out before now. He shrugs easily and smiles, leaving the question unanswered. His family always came first. With his sister just now old enough for after-school activities, his afternoons are now freed up as well. But he doesn’t say that. Doesn’t say that it's because his family needed him less, now that the youngest if them were growing up.

He dreams about how easy it was for him to keep that beat in his head of  _ 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4 _ , to turn off his thoughts, to only have to focus on moving forward for a little bit. He dreams about being excited at seeing the list of places they would go and compete at, some of the cities he’d only heard about, but had never gotten a chance to visit.

He dreams about how his step-father tells him, with his mother there at his side with tears on her face and guilt in her eyes, how they just don’t have the money for him to make any of the expected trips with the track team and how they’re so, so sorry Lance, they’ll make it up to him somehow, someway. He smiles at them and tells them it’s ok, it didn’t mean too much to him anyways.

He dreams about how his feet and hips and thighs sting that following morning as he runs laps around their small neighborhood, his thoughts turned off for the moment as he keeps time with his  _ 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4  _ bea-

He wakes up angry. 

Angry at his parents, angry at the priestesses, angry at himself. He’s quick to imagine a brick wall, to imagine him building it up, even as the words **_N_** **_o one should have to shoulder this alone_ ** wash over him.

He’s angry that he’s angry, upset that he’d been stupid enough to trust some aliens in his dreams because they had been  _ nice _ to him and that he let them saddle him with this ability that he had no idea how to control. He’s upset because he knew if he didn’t figure this shit out that would be it for Voltron and-

His thoughts are stopped cold by a loud knock on the door.

He’s quick to imagine a brick wall, quick to take a deep breath and push his hands against his stinging eyes, quick to wrap his blanket around himself again, turn to face the wall his bed sat against and tries to pretend he was asleep.

There’s another loud knock on his door.

“Lance I know you’re awake, I can feel you being a grump in there. If you're naked or something just, cover up or whatever, cause I’m coming in.”

It’s Pidge that comes through the door, exhaustion clinging to her. 

He imagines a brick wall, trying to build it up as high as he could, trying to keep her safe from this nonsense as he continued to pretend to be asleep.

He can hear her take the few steps needed to reach his bedside, not bothering to close the door behind her, and plops onto the bed next to him, her back resting against the headboard as she nonchalantly stretches her legs in front of her. This close, the exhaustion rolling off her is near palpable, as is her frustration.

He stiffens, nearly involuntary, the image of Hunk looking so confused and hurt still fresh in his mind-

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

He clamps down on the fear trying to bubble from him at her words, trying to imagine his brick wall higher, denser, keeping them out and him in-

“Like, ok, see I just felt you almost like…try to pack up something? Is that even an emotion or like, is that even how any of this works? I know there’s gotta be better words for it, but it feels kinda like a kid trying to clean up his room by shoving all his junk into his closet.” 

He involuntarily smiles at the analogy and a twinge of happiness grabs at him for a moment. When Pidge gives a small snort of amusement, he knows she's felt that too.

There’s a pause between them as Lance tries to force himself to relax, to keep himself as neutral and as calm as possible.

“Look,” she eventually says, “I know this is has got to be all sorts of weird for you but, Lance, you’re miserable in here. I know no one’s said it to you in so many words, but we can feel that. And like, even though you’re trying to block us from whatever’s going on in that head of yours, like that kid hiding his mess in a closet, it still feels like you’re quietly beating your head against a wall in here.”

He curls inward slightly, his eyes focused at a spot on the wall next to his bed, embarrassment reddening his ears. So maybe his brick wall hadn’t been working as well as he had thought.

“Lance,” she starts again, “we’re all worried about you and I know you’ve  _ got _ to be feeling that at least somewhat. I mean, I didn’t have space ghosts get all up in my business and I can tell everyone is worried and I’ve been in my room for almost two days. I stopped in the kitchen on my way here and, dude, do you have any idea the amount of things Hunk’s made? I’m pretty sure everyone’s got their own mini cake made for them at this point, including the mice.”

The image of tiny, itty bitty cakes comes to mind and Lance actually smiles fully.

“Yeah,” he finally says, not missing the way Pidge jumped ever so slightly at the sound of his voice, “I can feel it and I guess I’m just-” he paused, trying to push back a dark bubble in his chest as he shrugged. 

Maybe he  _ was _ just like a kid, trying to keep all his messes stuffed in a closet.

He can feel Pidge shift next to him slightly and, to his surprise, there’s suddenly a small hand laying gently against his temple and he tenses for a moment, worried about a repeat of what he had done to Hunk-

“Dude, just breathe. Hunk’s a panicked mess on a good day, it won’t be the same because  _ I’m _ not the same.”

And, of course, she was right.

It’s not so much a crashing wave with Pidge as it was with Hunk or the priestesses. More like a river trickling down a small waterfall, calming and cool. He could feel an undercurrent of loneliness, homesickness, and a low, constant ache of searching for her family and finding nothing.

But there was also boundless curiosity, excitement about experiencing things no other human had before. He found he could feel her frustration more clearly now, like it was a slide on a microscope that had been sharply tuned into focus. She was annoyed that no one else would make the first move, would really try to get him to come out of his darkened room, to try and show him that they all loved him and just wanted to help and wouldn’t he just let them try?

For the first time in days, Lance relaxes and sighs.

“I can tell you’re afraid about something other than everything that’s happened over the last month. It’s...well it’s not the first thing that’s coming up, it's just like there, kinda like the slow pulse you get in the back of your head with a migraine. I won’t ask you to tell me what that’s all about, because that’s not my place to ask. But, Lance, if it’s making you feel this awful when you’re trying not to think about it, what’s the worst that can happen if you just talk about it?”

He’s silent, trying with all his might not to feel like he’s been sucker punched, trying with everything he’s got to not let himself think about a normally warm face full of fear and confusion.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He says, sighing contentedly as Pidge starts scratching the side of his head.

“Don’t be.”

They sit there like that for some time, relaxing further as Lance basks in Pidge’s calm mind, sending cool waves back her way once he felt that there would be no repeat of a panicked feedback loop like with Hunk.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, all he knows is that he doesn’t dream.

Coran finds them like that when he peeks his head in to Lance’s still open door an hour later. Pidge sitting upwards, her back still against the headboard, her head tilted back to rest against the wall, her hand still resting against the side of Lance’s head, both of them softly snoring.

He’s quick to find an extra blanket in one of the many hall-closets and drapes it over Pidge as carefully as he can.

__________________________________

It had only been a half varga since Pidge had sent what had initially looked like a confusing worksheet of database information to the bridge, with the cryptic message of “Keith’s gonna come chat with ya’ll” attached. 

When Coran had inquired about what a “ya’ll” was, Shiro was quick to explain that it was Earth slang for “everyone”. Needless to say, Coran had become immediately smitten with the word and had decided to incorporate it into his daily vernacular.

It had only been twenty-five vargas since Keith had reached the bridge, slightly out of breath and face flushed. 

“Ok, so, mind telling me what it is that Pidge sent us?” Shiro asked, pulling the charts up onto the wide display screens.

“It’s...help...for Lance.” he had huffed, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Shiro looked up at the displays and back to Keith, confusion clearly written on his face.

“This is what Pidge’s been doing since yesterday. Look,” Keith said, clicking through charts for a moment until he found what he was looking for, “these people, the Apa, they’re like Lance is now. Or, at least kinda. We can, I don’t know, call them? And ask for help.”

Shiro was already shaking his head by the time Keith finished.

“Keith, we can’t be going around asking unknown groups for assistance. We just need to to buckle down and work as a team an-”

“What have you always told me Shiro? If I don’t know how to handle something, I should ask for help, right?”

“Yes, but Keith this is different-”

“But it’s not,” he says this with such certainty and frankness and does not give Shiro the chance to counter back, “look, no one on this ship knows what to do in this situation, no one here knows how to help Lance or what this new power crap is going to do to him. You even said so yourself, Shiro.”

Allura raised an eyebrow as she looked between the two. She had never seen Keith question Shiro’s line of logic, let alone throw his own words back at him. 

“Keith, this is bigger than asking a friend to help understand social cues-”

“But it’s  _ not _ , it’s just not. Look here,” Keith makes a few keystrokes and pulls up the notes section on the chart, “these people, they were  _ just _ liberated Shiro, thanks to the work we’ve all put in here. Why wouldn’t they want to help us? Best case scenario, we ask them for their advice and Lance gets the help he needs. Worst case scenario, they say no and we try something else.”

Allura watches as a tense moment plays out, with Keith’s shoulder’s square and tense in a way she’s only seen before a battle. There’s a brief moment where Shiro’s eyes harden and she wonders what’s going through his mind-

“Ok, you know what, sure, why not?” he says this with a sigh, his features softening, “ It looks like Pidge did her homework with this and I know when I’m fighting a losing battle. Unless, Princess, do you think there’s a better course of action for us to take here?”

Allura is suddenly on the receiving end of such an intense look from Keith that she balks for a moment. 

“Keith,” she starts, his expression not changing, “your argument is logically sound. We do not have the proper tools to help Lance by ourselves; it would be foolish of us not to explore every option we have, especially if our very own Pidge did so much research into this.”

She watches as his shoulders relax and Allura has the distinct feeling that Keith would hug her then and there, were he the kind of person to do so. 

So, that was how they found themselves setting up an encrypted communication port and hailing a line for pick up on Rhexa IV. 

Once formalities were out of the way and introductions were made, Allura watches, just off screen, as Shiro explains their predicament to the Apian leader, a softly pink being made of smiles and a calming voice by the name of Tarlia. Allura had immediately liked her, making the decision Keith had steered them towards make more sense by the moment.

“So, long of the short of it is this: One of our paladins has acquired this...empathic ability and has no way to control it. We were wondering if you would be willing to help us since your people are known for your own abilities in that field?”

Tarlia was already nodding her head on screen before Shiro had even finished.

“Yes, yes yes, of course Paladin Shiro! Please, it would be an absolute honor to be able to help you and your team. Do you have the coordinates to our planet?”

Shiro paused, looking at the screen where the Pidge’s chart was still pulled up.

“Yes, it looks like we do.”

“Fantastic. Then, if you are able, would it be possible for you to be here in roughly,” she looked somewhere off screen for a moment, “twelve quarnets?”

“That’s roughly fourteen vargas, Shiro.” Allura was quick to say this under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, the confusion in his face about the Apian time-standards not missed.

“Uh, sure. I think we can manage that.” Shiro answers as he looks to Coran, who gives him two thumbs up, quietly letting him know that  _ of course _ their ship could make that time. Another Earth habit he had taken a liking to, the sight of it had Allura smiling to herself.

“Wonderful. It’s early evening here now, but I will make sure we have everything prepared for you when you get here in the morning. I always advise non-Apa individuals coming for such an occasion to make sure that they wear comfortable clothing and to not eat too much before arrival because, of course, we’ll have a feast for you-”

“Wait, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude in interrupting,” Shiro said, “but what, uh, what exactly are you preparing for me and my team?”

Tarlia pauses, her face falling for a moment in confusion, as she answers simply:

“Family Integration, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first attempt at any sort of fic writing for Voltron, like I literally binged most of the show over the weekend. Please let me know if there's anything I might have messed up or, if you like what you read, let me know that too!


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